•f.  :: • 


hftly  and  tenderly  as  snow  flakes  fell  the  touches  cj 
hand  upon  that  lou'ed  head.''     k!e&  p.  %** 


THE 


IRVOGTON    STORIES. 


M.  E.  DODGE. 


ILLUSTRATED     BY 


F.     O.     C.     D  A  H  L  E  Y 


NEW  YORK: 
JAMES    O'KAXE,    PUBLISHER, 

SAN  FRANCISCO;   II.  H.  BANCROFT  &  CO. 
M  DCCC  LXV. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1SG4, 
BY  M.  E.  DODGE, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  for  the 
District  of  New  Jersey. 


>.'( T:KA    AND    MILLKIl,   BTP.UKOTYPliKS.  C.   A.  ALVOK1),   PRINTER. 


"b 


M  A 


.     ' 


!n   OiliJrni, 


J  A  ^!  I  K      AND      II  A  111!  Y 


iiljcsc  Stories 


AI:I:    i.  o  VINCI,  v    ixscr.iiiun. 


M269185 


OLD  MOTHER  LIFE  to  her  children  doth  say: — 

"Go  on  with  your  duties,  my  dears; 
On  the  right  hand  is  work,  on  the  left  hand  is  play 
See  that  you  tarry  with  neither  all  day, 
But  faithfully  build  up  the  years." 

To  Fiction  she  crieth,  "  T  pray  you  draw  near, 
You  can  help  them  my  bidding  to  do, 

Can  mirror  my  smile,  and  enjewel  my  tear; 

So  enter  and  welcome — the  children  are  here — 
Indeed,  they  are  calling  for  you!" 


COXTE^TS. 


PAGE 

THE  HERMIT  OF  THE  HILLS:   A  CHRISTMAS  STORY 7 

CUSHAIIEE  ;    OR,  THE  BOY'S  WALK 54 

CAPTAIN  GEORGE,   THE   DRUMMER-BOY  :    A   STORY    OF  THE 

'  REBELLION G8 

THE  GOLDEN  GATE  :    A  LEGEND 144 

PO-NO-KAII  :    AN  INDIAN  TALE ]  t.l 

BRAVE  ROBBY  AND  THE  SKELETON 230 

THE  ARTIST  AND  THE  NEWSBOY 247 

THE  BOYS'  BATTLE-SONG  . .                                                    .  254 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


1.  OLD  POP  AXD  LITTLE  ELSIE.     Frontispiece.  PAGE 

2.  PARTED  FRIEXDS 68 

3.  THE  LITTLE  HERO 1  .".8 

4.  " BREAKERS  AHEAD!" 172 

5.  THE  CAPTURE  . .  188 


Irimiflfoit  S 


THE  HERMIT  OF  THE  HILLS: 

A  CHRISTMAS   STORY. 


I. 

OLD     POP. 

A  CHILL  December  day  was  slowly  creep- 
-ii-  ing  upward  from  tlie  east.  One  by  one, 
the  stars  that  had  been  wide  awake  all  night, 
began  to  blink  drowsily,  and  finally,  ceased 
to  look  down  upon  the  earth.  Only  the 
morning  star  kept  watch.  All  the  homes  of 
the  land  lay  silent  beneath  her.  Some  were 
stately  and  beautiful,  others  were  dingy  and 
comfortless  ;  some  crowded  thickly  together 
between  steeples  and  spires  and  a  medley  of 
mast-heads,  others  seemed  kneeling  amid  the 
trees  in  the  valleys ;  and  many  stood,  stark 
and  stiff,  along  the  roadsides. 

But  of  all  those  silent  dwellings,  none  were 


8  IRVINGTON    STORIES. 

so  dreary  as  one  rough  hut,  that  crouched, 
alone,  upon  a  hill  in  the  forest.  Before  it, 
stood  a  hemlock-tree,  almost  black  in  the 
cold,  gray  light,  pointing  with  long,  icy 
fingers  to  the  sombre  earth. 

Soon  the  one  door  of  the  hut  opened  slowly 
and  an  old  man  came  forth  clothed  in  dingy 
rags.  Barely  glancing  at  the  sky,  and  shiv 
ering  with  cold,  he  tottered  down  the  slope 
of  the  hill  and,  bending,  gathered  one  by  one 
the  dry  sticks  that  lay  about  his  feet. 

No  one  viewing  the  scene  could  have  sup 
posed  that  holiday  thoughts  would  ever  reach 
the  spot,  or  that  before  many  hours  the  merry 
Christmas  bells  would  startle  the  echoes  from 
their  hiding-places  around  that  dismal  abode. 

There  was  no  pleasant  glow  upon  the  old 
man's  face  as  he  bore  his  jagged  armful  into 
the  hut,  and  cast  it  upon  the  rough  hearth 
stone.  The  very  smoke  that  afterward  issued 
from  a  rusty  pipe,  projecting  from  the  walls, 
crept  languidly  to  the  earth,  as  if  even  her 
frozen  bosom  were  warmer  and  more  genial 
than  the  fire  it  had  left  within. 

Sometimes — when  on  clear,  bright  days  the 
smoke  curled  hurriedly  up  from  this  same 


THE   HERMIT   OF   THE  HILLS.  9 

pipe,  eager  to  escape  into  the  sunshine — the 
village  children,  looking  up  from  the  valley, 
would  shout  to  each  other  that  ' i  Old  Pop' ' 
was  awake,  and  the  bravest  of  them  would 
propose  a  visit  to  his  mysterious  dwelling. 
The  expedition  once  resolved  upon,  boys  and 
girls  by  dozens  would  soon  join  the  ranks, 
and  with  many  a  whisper  and  startled  laugh 
the  procession  would  wend  its  way  up  and 
down  the  forest  hills  until  the  forbidden  spot 
was  reached,  where  ' '  Old  Pop' '  reigned  su 
preme.  At  the  sound  of  the  first  timid 
footfall  he  would  quickly  appear,  and,  with 
angry  frown  and  furious  shout,  rush  upon 
his  uninvited  guests.  The  slightest  flourish 
of  his  stick  had  power  to  scatter  them, 
though  the  little  scamperers  would  often  halt 
at  a  safe  distance  and  rend  the  air  with  merry 
shouts,  expressive  of  any  thing  but  love  for 
the  grim  old  man. 

Many  stories  were  current  in  the  village 
concerning  the  "  Hermit  of  the  Hills,"  as  he 
was  called  by  the  people  of  the  place,  though 
among  the  children  he  always  bore  the  title  of 
"  Old  Pop."  Sonr  and  grim  the  young  folks 
well  knew  him  to  be,  but  his  violence  had 


10  IRVINGTON    STORIES. 

always  expended  itself  in  angry  words  and  a 
ferocious  shaking  of  his  stick  ;  never  had  a 
blow  fallen  from  his  hand  upon  a  single  pair 
of  little  shoulders,  though  more  than  once  he 
had  caught  a  stray  invader  near  his  very 
threshold. 

"  He  won't  hurt  us,  never  fear  !"  the  bold 
est  of  their  leaders  would  sometimes  say,  by 
way  of  encouragement,  "  though  he  hates  us 
awfully.  They  say  the  very  sight  of  a  child 
makes  him  furious." 

' '  They  Say' '  was  a  great  busybody  in  this 
village,  and,  as  usual,  did  a  deal  of  mischief, 
because  his  statements  were  generally  believ 
ed,  and  few  cared  to  trace  them  to  their 
source.  "They  Say"  has  blighted  many  a 
joyous  heart  and  many  a  happy  home  since 
the  world  began  ;  yet  if  we  only  are  brave 
enough  to  attack  him  with  a  certain  weapon 
called  "Wno  says  f  we  shall  find  that  one 
thrust  will  finish  him,  and  make  him  gasp  out 
" Nobody!"  just  as  he  is  dying.  I  call  it 
dying,  but  you  can  kill  ' '  They  Say' '  only  for 
a  little  while.  He  has  more  lives  than  a  cat ; 
and  will  spring  up  as  nimble  as  ever  at  the 
first  breath  of  gossip  that  blows  upon  him. 


THE   HERMIT   OF   THE   HlLLS.  11 

The  other  rumors  circulated  by  the  great 
"They  Say"  were,  that  the  old  man  was  a 
miser,  and  had  heaps  of  gold  buried  under 
the  roots  of  his  chestnuts  and  maples  ;  that 
he  was  some  great  criminal  skulking  from 
justice  ;  that  before  the  village  was  settled 
the  old  hermit  had  already  taken  his  abode 
in  the  dreary  hut,  and  that  the  mound  near  it 
was  a  grave — the  grave  of  one  whom  the  old 
man  had,  years  before,  carried  there  at  night, 
dying  or  dead.  Again,  that  he  was  not  an 
old  man  at  all,  but  one  still  in  the  vigor  of 
manhood.  Many  a  boy  and  girl  testified  to 
having  seen  his  bent  figure  straighten  in  his 
wrath  until  lie  had  towered  like  a  very 
Orson.  Some  of  the  villagers  believed  him  to 
be  a  lunatic,  and  thanked  their  lucky  stars 
that  he  chose  to  keep  aloof  from  their  sunny 
lanes  ;  and  others  even  went  so  for  as  to  hint 
that  he  was  a  "weird  one,"  gifted  with 
strange  powers,  and  that  his  very  donkey, 
lean  and  weak-jointed  as  it  was,  had  a 
k '  wrong' '  look  out  of  its  hollow  eyes.  ]S"one 
had  ever  seen  the  donkey  except  at  nightfall, 
when,  on  very  rare  occasions,  they  chanced 
to  meet  the  old  hermit  riding  slowly  in  an 


12  IRVINGTON   STORIES. 

opposite  direction  from  the  village ;  but  all 
asserted  there  was  no  mistaking  the  look  in 
that  donkey's  eyes. 

However  all  this  may  have  been,  some 
points  were  quite  certain.  "  Old  Pop"  was 
not  at  all  like  other  men.  He  lived  alone  and 
uncared  for  in  his  Ibroken-down  hut,  seeking 
no  company ;  never  speaking  to  any  of  the 
villagers,  excepting  very  rarely  to  the  school 
master,  or  even  returning  their  salutations, 
when  they  crossed  his  path,  but  by  a  low 
sound,  half  mutter,  half  growl ;  and  never  by 
any  chance  having  a  kind  word  or  pleasant 
greeting  for  boy  or  girl.  Unloved  he  knew 
himself  to  be,  and  he  evidently  resolved  to 
balance  the  account  by  being  himself  unlov 
ing  to  the  last. 


II. 

AN    IDEA,    AND    ITS    CONSEQUENCES. 

IT  happened  that  on  the  very  morning  with 
which  my  history  opens,  December  23, 
185-,  one  of  the  biggest  boys  in  the  village  had 
•an  idea.     ISTo  one  seeing  him  seated  upon  the 


THE  HEKMIT   OF   THE   HILLS.  13 

edge  of  the  bed,  his  yellow  locks  dishevelled, 
his  freckled  face  unwashed,  to  say  nothing  of 
a  chronic  swelling  of  lips  and  eyelids,  would 
have  deemed  the  tiling  possible  :  yet  the  fact 
is  on  record.  Will  Rlpley  (called  William 
Augustus  by  his  parents  and  aunts),  though 
not  a  very  bright  boy,  possessed  a  jewel  that 
on  this  particular  morning  had  succeeded  in 
flashing  a  ray  of  light  into  his  dull  head. 
The  consequence  was  an  idea  which,  if 
successfully  carried  out,  would  secure  glory 
for  himself  and  any  amount  of  fun  for  a  host 
of  young  adventurers. 

This  idea  was  nothing  less  than  a  project  to 
form  a  large  party  of  boys,  who  at  noon  that 
day  should  march  in  a  body  to  "  Old  Pop's" 
domain,  and,  in  spite  of  his  certain  wrath,  beg 
from  him  the  beautiful  young  hemlock  before 
his  hut  as  a  Christmas-tree  for  Jennie  Todd, 
the  juvenile  belle  of  the  village.  The  jewel 
that  inspired  the  exploit  was  a  warm  heart 
under  Will's  jacket,  beating  just  now  solely 
for  that  same  Jennie  Todd,  a  blooming  little 
lady  of  twelve  summers. 

No  sooner  did  the  idea  strike  Master  Will 
than  he  sprang  from  the  bed  as  if  he  had  been 


14  IRVINGTON   STOEIES. 

shot.  "  Josh  !"  he  cried,  "  if  that  wouldn't  be 
a  go  !"  His  tight  jacket  and  outgrown  trou 
sers  being  hastily  donned,  and  sundry  huge 
mouthfuls  of  mush  and  molasses  disposed  of, 
our  hero  commenced  his  labors  as  recruiting 
officer.  It  was  just  two  days  before  Christ 
mas,  and  the  first  morning  of  a  fortnight's 
holiday  ;  the  children  were  consequently  in  a 
very  receptive  condition  as  far  as  fun  or 
adventure  were  concerned.  Numerous  vol 
unteers  quickly  enrolled  themselves  under 
the  banner  of  William  Augustus.  In  the 
general  enthusiasm  even  the  petticoat  uniform 
was  admitted  upon  equal  terms,  until  finally 
their  brilliant  commander  sulked  out  that  he 
wasn't  "  going  to  have  more  gals  than  boys, 
or  the  game  would  be  all  up." 

Before  starting  on  their  witless  expedition, 
the  party  agreed  that  six  of  their  number, 
three  boys  and  three  girls,  should  advance 
nearest  the  citadel,  and  under  an  imaginary 
flag  of  truce  confer  with  its  glum  commander 
concerning  the  desired  hemlock ;  not  that 
they  had  any  possible  expectation  of  a  favor 
able  reply,  but,  as  Will  had  said,  the  thing 
was  worth  trying  for  at  any  rate. 


THE  HERMIT   OF   THE  HILLS.  15 

This  potent  argument  inspired  all  requisite 
strength  and  courage  as  the  children  hurried 
on  in  boisterous  groups  toward  the  forest. 
Soon  their  steps  became  more  stealth}^  their 
voices  subdued,  as  they  marched  on,  up  and 
down,  through  the  undulating  wood.  Now 
and  then  a  faint  shriek  from  some  startled 
girl,  who  felt  "sure"  that  she  saw  Old  Pop 
rushing  down  upon  them,  called  forth  the 
stilled  reproaches  of  her  companions  ;  or  the 
reckless  laugh  of  some  very  small  youngster 
who  had  insisted  upon  joining  the  expedition 
brought  forth  terrible  threats  from  the  big- 
boys. 

Save  these  little  interruptions,  the  invaders 
pressed  on  in  stealthy  concert,  until  the  her 
mit'  s  hill  was  reached. 

Halting  here,  the  main  body,  settled  in 
anxious  expectation,  while  three  boys  and 
three  girls,  after  the  manner  of  Shem,  Ham, 
and  Japheth,  and  their  wives  (as  represented 
in  sixpenny  arks),  walked  in  pairs  hand  in 
hand  up  the  ascent. 

"What  shall  we  say  to  him?"  whispered 
Elsie  Brown,  the  head  girl,  to  her  com 
panion. 


16  IKVINGTON   STORIES. 

"Say?"  was  the  lucid  response,  "why, 
nothing  ;  only  tell  him  we  want  it." 

"Oh,  Will,  that  won't  do  at  all.  I  do 
"believe  the  poor  old  man  hasn't  heard  a  lov 
ing  word  for  years  and  years.  It  won't  hurt 
us,  I'm  sure,  to  talk  kindly  with  him  even 
if  he  refuse  to  give  us  the  tree." 

"Humph  !  Lucky  for  us  if  he  gives  us  a 
chance,"  grunted  Will,  as  he  shuffled  on. 
"I'm  getting  a  little  skeery  of  this  business, 
though  I  started  it  myself.  They  say  the  old 
feller' s  got  a  pair  of  double-barrelled  pistols 
to  use  at  a  pinch,  and  I,  for — 

"Blazes!"  cried  the  boy  behind  them, 
4 '  there  he  is !  Now  for  it !" 

Instinctively  the  six  adventurers  huddled 
more  closely  together  as  they  neared  the 
mute  figure  standing,  stick  in  hand,  at  the 
crown  of  the  hill.  Stern,  almost  savage,  not 
a  gleam  of  encouragement  in  the  strange 
eyes. 

Will  spoke  first,  out  of  breath  as  he  was, 
looking  up  to  where  the  old  man  stood. 

"We  come  to  ask  you,  Old  Pop— I  mean, 
Mr.  Hermit — for  that  air  hemlock  of  yourn 
to—" 


THE   HERMIT   OF   THE   HILLS.  17 

The  old  man  raised  his  stick. 

"If  you  please,  Sir,"  put  in  Elsio,  "for  a 
Christmas-tree  !" 

"  We'll  cut  it  down  ourselves,  Sir,"  added 
the  rest,  laughing  between  terror  and  fun, 
"if  you'll— " 

"If  I'll !"  echoed  the  cross  old  fellow,  with 
an  ugly  squeak — "go  along  with  you,  or  I'll 
"break  every  bone  in  your  rascally  little 
bodies,"  and,  suiting  the  action  to  the  word, 
Old  Pop  brandished  his  stick  and  rushed 
furiously  toward  them. 

By  this  time  curiosity  or  anxiety  had 
brought  all  the  rest  of  the  party  close  in  the 
rear,  and  when  the  eiifans  perdus*  precipi 
tately  beat  a  retreat,  the  entire  corps  cTarmce^ 
wisely  fell  in  with  the  movement,  and,  laugh 
ing  and  screaming,  performed  a  brilliant 
"double-quick"  across  the  hills. 

In  an  instant  one  of  the  rear-guard,  looking 
back,  screamed  out : 


»  *  Eitfans  perdus — lost  children,  or  leaders  of  the  forlorn  hope: 
a  military  term  for  a  body  of  men  singled  out  from  the  main 
army  to  lead  an  assault,  enter  a  breach,  or  perform  other  ser 
vice,  attended  with  uncommon  peril. 

f  Corps  cTarmee — body  of  the  army,  or  main  army. 

2 


18  IRVINGTON    STORIES. 

< '  There !     He' s  fallen— good  for  him  !' ' 

"Hi !  good  for  him  !"  echoed  nearly  all  the 
children,  abating  their  speed  not  a  whit,  from 
sheer  love  of  excitement. 

Elsie  Brown  heard  their  cry,  and,  tender 
hearted  creature  that  she  was,  would  have 
paused  from  sympathy  had  it  been  even  a 
bear  that  had  fallen,  and  not  a  friendless  old 
man. 

«  Girls— Will !"  she  cried  ;  "  see !  he's  hurt. 
He  doesn't  get  up.  Oh,  do  come  back  !" 

But  the  panting  crowd  had  by  this  time 
nearly  forgotten  the  old  man's  mishap,  and 
amidst  the  din  of  so  many  voices  Elsie's 
appeal  for  help  was  unheard. 

Will,  who,  somehow,  during  the  stampede 
had  been  drawn  closer  and  closer  to  the 
coquettish  Jennie  Todd,  was  quite  out  of 
hearing ;  and  when  Elsie,  tired  of  calling, 
turned  toward  the  still  prostrate  man,  none 
heeded  her,  or  dreamed  that  she  was  not 
foremost  among  the  scamperers. 

Without  a  thought  of  danger  our  sweet 
little  Samaritan  hurried  back  to  the  spot 
where  Old  Pop  was  lying  ;  no  stick  in  his 
listless  hand  now. 


THE    HERMIT    OF   THE   HILLS.  19 

"Are  you  hurtf  whispered  Elsie,  bend 
ing  over  him,  but  starting  back  with  a  shud 
der  as  she  saw  his  white  lips  and  the  blood 
trickling  down  over  his  furrowed  cheek  and 
long  gray  beard. 

There  was  no  answer. 

Recovering  her  self-possession  in  an  instant, 
the  noble-hearted  child  rushed  into  the  hut 
for  water.  Finding  none,  she  seized  an  old 
earthen  pitcher,  lacking  both  handle  and 
spout,  and  ran  to  the  stream  near  by. 
Around  it  ice  lay  in  the  hollows,  holding 
with  a  firm  clutch  the  yellow  leaves  that  had 
fallen  there  in  the  soft  Indian  Summer  days. 
Elsie  sprang  over  them  never  pausing,  as  at 
any  other  time  she  would  have  done,  to  in 
dulge  in  those  blessed  little  slides  so  dear  to 
school-girls.  In  a  moment  she  was  hastening 
back,  with  her  pitcherful,  toward  the  injured 
man. 

His  senses  had  returned,  and  he  was  trying 
to  rise  as  Elsie  approached. 

uAh!  you  little  ragamuffin,"  he  growled, 
looking  drearily  at  her,  "wait  until  I  get  at 
you  ! — you  shall  feel  my  big  stick  !" 

"I  am  sorry,  Sir,"  said  Elsie,  never  paus- 


20  IKVINGTON   STOKIES. 

ing,  but  hurrying  toward  him,  and  even 
laying  her  hand  upon  his  shoulder — "I  am 
very  sorry  you  fell,  indeed  I  am.  See,  here 
is  water  ;  let  me  bathe  your  head — you  have 
cut  it  badly." 

"Here!  none  of  your  tricks!" — with  a 
savage  scowl — "be  off  with  you,  or  I'll  pitch 
you  down  the  hill !" 

Elsie  answered,  resolutely, 

' '  No,  you  will  not  hurt  a  little  girl  like 
me,  1  am  sure.  Come  into  the  hut,  and  when 
I  have  bathed  your  wound  and  bound  up 
your  head  then  I'll  go.  It  is  cold  out  here, 
even  in  the  sunshine." 

He  looked  at  her  fixedly  for  a  moment,  and 
muttered,  "  It  is  cold  in  there  too.  Go  back 
—go  to  your  home,  and  let  the  old  man 
die." 

"  But  you  are  not  going  to  die  !"  laughed 
Elsie,  shaking  her  head  at  him,  though  she 
trembled  all  over  at  his  strange  manner. 
"You  have  only  a  cut  upon  your  temple, 
and  you  couldn't  die  of  that,  even  if  you 
wanted  to  ;' '  and  she  began  busily  to  gather 
the  pieces  of  broken  branches  that  lay  scat 
tered  on  the  side  of  the  hill. 


THE   HERMIT   OF   THE   HILLS.  21 

"Here!  let  that  wood  alone!"  cried  the 
old  man,  now  fairly  upon  his  feet,  yet  look 
ing  at  her  like  one  in  a  dream. 

"Yes,  in  a  moment,"  was  Elsie's  good- 
natured  reply,  as  she  bustled  into  the  hut 
with  her  apronfuL  Old  Pop  lost  not  an 
instant  in  stumbling  in  after  her. 

Ah,  little  Elsie  !— kind  little  Elsie  !— you 
have  dared  too  for  !  No  :  lie  does  not  harm 
her.  He  has  sunk  upon  a  rough  bench  near 
the  hearth- stone,  and  watches  her  movements 
in  silence. 

There  were  a  few  smouldering  embers  left. 
Elsie  scraped  them  together  with  a  stick, 
heaped  first  a  few  dried  leaves,  then  the 
twigs  upon  them,  and  kneeling  lower,  blew 
with  all  her  little  might  into  their  midst, 
shutting  her  eyes  very  tightly,  for  the  ashes 
were  flying  into  her  face. 

Snap  !  crack !— the  wood  was  in  a  blaze  ! 
Placing  two  or  three  larger  sticks  upon  the 
top,  Elsie  rose  with  a  solemn,  business-like 
air. 

u  Ah,  you  are  very  pale  and  faint  yet ;  you 
must  wear  my  cloak  until  the  room  is  warm, 
if  it  ever  can  get  warm  with  all  these  cracks 


22  IRVINGTON   STORIES. 

in  the  roof"— and  she  wrapped  a  coarse  but 
"bright  garment  about  his  shoulders. 

He  pushed  it  uneasily  away — no  anger  in 
his  manner  now  ;  no  kindness  either.  "  I  am 
not  cold  ;  go  home." 

"  Yery  soon  I  will,"  said  the  child,  cheer 
ily,  running  out  for  the  pitcher  of  water  and 
breaking  its  thin  film  of  ice  as  she  came  in 
again,  the  ruddy  gleam  of  the  fire  playing 
upon  her  face. 

"  Oh,  you  haven't  any  rag  here,  have  you  ? 
Well,  my  apron  -will  do."  And  she  dipped 
a  corner  into  the  water.  ' c  Now  you  must 
let  me  wash  away  that  ugly  blood." 

Either  the  wound  was  smarting  sorely,  or 
Old  Pop  was  stupefied  by  his  fall,  for  he 
made  no  resistance.  Softly  and  tenderly  as 
snow-flakes  fell  the  touches  of  Elsie' s  hands 
upon  that  bowed  head.  "It  is  not  much," 
she  said,  when  at  last  the  blood  was  all 
carefully  washed  away  ;  c '  you  should  hold 
cold  water  to  the  bump — that' s  what  mother 
always  does  for  me.  And  now,  if  I  only  had 
a  cobweb  !" 

This  humble  wish  was  easily  met  in  the 
rickety  hut,  almost  by  the  reaching  of  her 


THE   HERMIT    OF   THE   HILLS.  23 

hand,  for  spiders  had  woven  there  unmoles 
ted  for  many  a  day.  The  blood  was  soon 
stanched  to  Elsie' s  full  content. 

"Now  I'll  go,"  said  the  child,  quietly,  as 
with  nimble  hands  she  placed  fresh  sticks 
upon  the  fire.  "Do  you  feel  any  better, 
Sir?" 

' '  Hey  ?' '   very  gruffly. 

"You  feel  better,  I  hope?  Does  your 
head  hurt  you  now,  Sir  V ' 

"  No  ;  go  home/1 

Elsie  moved  sadly  toward  the  door,  and 
then  — child  that  she  was — a  sudden  impulse 
caused  her  to  go  back  to  him. 

"Poor  old  man!"  she  almost  whispered, 
"  your  heart  lias  been  broken." 

His  start  frightened  her.  She  believed  he 
would  strike  her  on  the  spot ;  but  he  only 
lifted  his  head  and  looked  wearily  into  her 
face. 

"Why,  child?" 

"Because — because  you  are  so  very  cross  ; 
and  you  cannot  be  cheered  even  in  these 
merry  Christmas  times.  Why,  it  comes  day 
after  to-morrow  !  You  surely  will  not  be  the 
only  person  in  the  whole  world  who  does  not 


24  IRVINGTON   STORIES. 

keep  Christinas?"  And  Elsie  stared  at  him 
in  innocent  dismay. 

"  Christmas  !"  echoed  Old  Pop,  gloomily  ; 
"I  have  'most  forgotten  what  that  is." 

"  Forgotten  Christmas  !  Why,  I  think  if  I 
were  to  grow  twice  as  old  as  you  are  I  could 
never  forget  that!  It's  the  dear  Christ's 
birthday,  you  know  ;  and  every  one,  even 
the  most  miserable,  cannot  help  being  happy 
on  that  day." 

"Happy?"  whispered  Old  Pop  under  his 
breath,  and  looking  absently  at  Elsie  as  she 
seated  herself  at  his  feet — "  Happy?  happy  ?" 

"Yes,  happy,"  repeated  Elsie,  gently. 
"  Shall  I  tell  you  all  about  it  ?" 

The  old  man  nodded,  never  taking  his  eyes 
from  hers. 

"Why  it  is  Christ's  birthday — and  was  He 
not  a  good,  a  holy  child  ?" 

He  did  not  reply  ;  but  a  gleam,  like  some 
thing  from  the  past,  shot  across  his  furrowed 
face,  and  Elsie  read  her  answer. 

"  Oh,  He  was  so  pure,  so  noble  !  Never 
did  He  hold  one  harsh  or  wicked  thought — 
mother  has  told  me  this  often.  He  could 
not,  you  know ;  never  had  the  slightest 


THE   HERMIT   OF   THE   HILLS.  25 

quarrel ;  never  did  any  thing  the  least  bit 
wrong,  and  was  always  making  everybody 
about  him  happy — just  completely  good  and 
wise.  Oh !  He  was  a  blessed,  blessed  child 
I  am  sure,  and  his  days  must  have  been  like 
sunshine,  with  none  of  the  dreadful  trials 
that  came  to  Him  afterward.  You've  heard 
all  about  it,  haven't  you? — how  they  perse 
cuted  and  tortured  Him,  and  all  for  no  harm 
He  had  done  whatever." 

The  old  man  nodded  as,  with  troubled 
eyes,  he  gazed  into  that  tearful,  upturned 
face. 

"  But  it  is  all  over  now,"  resumed  Elsie, 
brightening.  "The  saints  in  Heaven  are 
never  sad,  and  surely  He  is  gladdest  of  all  ; 
and  whenever  His  birthday  comes,  oh  !  I  am 
certain  all  His  childish  thoughts  must  come 
back  to  Him.  Then  He  visits  earth  as  the 
Christ-child — comes  to  see  all  of  us  little 
children.  We  cannot  see  Him,  but  I  know 
Ho  comes  and  He  blesses  us,  and  makes  us, 
oh  !  so  happy.  Mother  sa}^s  He  enters  every 
body'  s  heart  and  whispers,  '  Love  the  chil 
dren  for  my  sake,'  and  He  makes  them  feel 
just  like  giving  all  the  boys  and  girls  a  holi- 


26  IRVINGTON    STOEIES. 

day,  and  having  lovely  green  Christmas-trees 
for  them,  hung  with  toys  and  all  kinds  of 
beautiful  things  ;  and  the  rich  give  to  one 
another  and  to  the  poor,  and  the  poor  are 
loving  and  gentle  to  each  other,  for  He  tells 
them  how  He  loves  them  and  everybody. 

' '  Everybody — child  ?' ' 

"Yes,  I  am  sure  He  does,"  cried  Elsie, 
clasping  her  hands. 

c  '  No,  He  does  not — not  always, ' '  sighed 
the  old  man.  ' c  He  has  not  crept  into  my 
heart,  little  girl ;  I  am  lonely,  lonely." 

"Ah,  but  He  will  though,"  insisted  Elsie, 
looking  brightly  into  his  eyes  and  shaking 
her  sunny  curls  against  his  breast,  "He 
will ;  it  is  not  too  late  yet." 

The  old  man  shook  his  head,  gazing  wist 
fully  into  her  glowing  face. 

"  Yes,  He  will ;  I  am  sure  of  it.  Why,  the 
wood  has  nearly  burned  away.  Poor  old 
man  !  how  many,  many  cold  days  you  must 
sit  here  shivering,  while  we  are  warm  and 
comfortable  down  in  the  village.  Why  don't 
you  come  and  live  there,  and  get  nice  clothes 
and—" 

The  hermit  glared  at  her  so  wildly  that, 


THE  HERMIT   OF   THE   HILLS.  27 

in  very  fear,  Elsie  moved  toward  tlie  door. 
Standing  outside,  she  looked  in  to  say, 

i  i  Good-by  !  Be  sure  to  keep  that  bump 
wet.  May  some  of  us  children  come  soon 
and  gather  wood  for  you  ?" 

"No,  no,  little  girl.  Here,  wait  a  mo 
ment."  And  with  a  half-troubled,  half- 
pleased  expression  on  his  worn  face,  Old  Pop 
picked  a  large,  dry  maple  leaf  from  the  floor 
and  proceeded  to  take  something  from  a 
rough  box  in  the  corner  of  his  cabin. 

Elsie1  was  only  a  child,  and  a  girl-child  too  ; 
who  can  blame  her  that  she  raised  on  tip-toe 
with  curiosity  ? 

"Here  child,  take  this." 

It  was  a  leaf  full  of  coarse  maple- sugar. 
Elsie  felt  disappointed,  scarce  knowing  why  ; 
but  no  duchess  could  have  received  it  with 
truer  politness  than  she. 

"Thank  you,  Sir." 

The  mute  figure,  as  it  stood  watching  Elsie 
tripping  back  over  the  hills,  was  different  in 
its  aspect  from  that  which  two  hours  before 
had  forbidden  her  approach.  The  same  form 
and  face,  but  with  no  anger  in  its  gesture,  no 
fierceness  in  its  look.  The  noon-day  sun  lay 


28  IKVINGTON   STORIES. 

warmly  upon  the  ground,  shining  through  a 
network  of  shadows,  the  pines  seemed  whis 
pering  softly  among  themselves,  and  the 
icicles  upon  the  hemlock  branches  were  melt 
ing  slowly  away. 

Turning  at  last  with  a  long  sigh,  the  old 
man  moved  toward  his  cabin,  but  instead  of 
entering,  walked  around  it  to  where  his  don 
key  stood  in  a  rough  boarded-up  shed.  The 
donkey,  who  was  dining  on  bad  hay  and 
dead  leaves,  had  paused  to  kick  awhile  at  a 
scraggy  heap  of  fagots  behind  him.  These  lat 
ter  were  generally  sacred  to  stormy  days  ;  but 
the  hermit  seemed  anxious  not  to  let  Elsie' s 
fire-light  die  away,  and  he  felt  scarcely  strong 
enough  to  collect  wood,  as  usual,  from  the 
hills.  Lifting  an  armful  from  his  store,  he 
moved  slowly  into  the  hut. 


III. 

THE    CHEIST-CHILD. 

THAT  night  the  moonlight  shone  through 
the  cracks  of  the  cabin  roof,   falling  in 
silvery  lines  across  the  bed   of  dry  leaves 


THE   HERMIT   OF   THE   HILLS.  29 

upon  which  Old  Pop  was  lying.  Poor  old 
man !  what  terrible  anguish  possessed  his 
soul  ?  Moan  after  moan  escaped  him,  and  his 
strained  eyes  stared  into  the  darkness  with 
all  the  wildness  of  delirium. 

UO  God!"  he  cried  again  and  again,  "is 
it  too  late  ?  is  it  too  late  2  Oh,  my  girl,  my 
poor  lost  girl !  forgive  me.  I  am  broken 
hearted,  I  am  all  alone  !" 

How  the  wind  moaned  among  the  pines  ! 
The  old  man  had  often  before  shaped  whimsi 
cal  thoughts  from  their  weird  whisperings, 
but  now  they  seemed  to  respond  with  almost 
human  anguish.  He  raised  his  head  and 
listened.  The  rush  of  mingled  voices  settled 
into  a  cry — "  Alone  !  Alone  !" 

He  could  hear  the  words  distinctly,  though 
he  knew  it  was  but  the  pines  that  spoke  ;  yet 
there  was  comfort  in  them  for  him — a  some 
thing  akin  to  sympathy  in  their  despairing 
cry — in  its  very  truthfulness — and  lie  fell 
asleep  listening  to  their  plaintive  wail  grow 
ing  fainter  and  fainter  as  it  floated  off  into  the 
night:  "Alone!  Alone!" 

Of  all  the  tender,  beautiful  dreams  stealing 
by  myriads  into  the  souls  of  God' s  children 


30  IRVINGTON   STOKIES. 

on  that  glorious  night,  none  were  more  ten 
der,  more  beautiful,  than  that  sent  to  the 
lonely  sleeper  among  the  pines.  He  thought 
there  came  to  him,  as  he  lay  upon  his  bed,  a 
gentle  child  radiant  with  light.  In  his  misery 
he  would  have  repulsed  it ;  but  the  little  one 
clung  to  him  so  closely,  and  nestled  its  head 
so  lovingly  upon  his  bosom,  he  could  not 
force  it  away.  Resting  there  softly,  it  lin 
gered  while  even,  in  his  dream,  he  slept  a 
sweet,  peaceful  slumber,  smiling  upon  him, 
when  he  awoke,  with  an  angelic  lustre  in  its 
loving,  human  eyes. 

"Do  not  be  lonely,"  said  the  child  ;  "the 
world  is  rich  for  thee  even  now.  Why  not 
do  thy  part?" 

Clasping  the  little  one  closer  and  closer, 
while  his  tears  fell  upon  its  golden  hair, 
"What  can  I  do  ?"  he  whispered.  . 

"  Love  us,  love  all  little  children,"  an 
swered  the  sweet  voice.  "Bless  those  that 
come  to  thee,  make  them  happier  for  my  sake." 

"I  will!  I  will!"  he  cried,  joyfully,  and 
he  awoke — to  find  himself  alone  in  the  silent 
hut,  the  undried  tears  still  coursing  down  his 
cheek.  Gleams  of  gold  and  crimson  were 


THE   HERMIT    OF   THE   HILLS.  31 

flashing  through  the  openings  of  the  roof,  and 
the  pines  were  silent  in  the  pure  morning  air. 
With  an  almost  boyish  leap,  the  hermit  rose 
from  his  couch,  busy  thoughts  crowding  upon 
him,  long-buried  memories  springing  into  a 
confused  life  within  his  heart. 

After  an  hour  of  busy  preparation,  during 
which  Old  Pop  was  forced  to  stand  still 
many  times  to  collect  his  ideas,  a  bright  lire 
blazed  upon  the  hearth,  lighting  the  face  of 
the  old  man  as  he  sat  enjoying  his  very 
singular  bachelor  breakfast.  Next  the  don 
key  was  permitted  to  indulge  in  his  own 
peculiar  repast,  turning  his  head,  as  he  ate, 
in  sheer  surprise  at  the  gerttle  strokes  falling 
upon  his  lean  sides. 

"  We  are  going  to  town  to-day,  my  friend, 
and  you  shall  have  oats  for  Christmas.1' 

The  donkey,  notwithstanding  his  big  ears, 
did  not  seem  to  hear  the  remark,  but  crunch 
ed  away  as  unconcerned  as  possible. 

It  was  strange  to  see  the  old  man  draw 
from  a  dusty  box  something  that  had  once 
been  a  handsome  fur-trimmed  cloak,  faded 
and  moth-eaten  now,  and  throw  it  with  old- 
time  grace  about  his  shoulders  ;  very  strange 


32  IRVITSGTON   STOEIES. 

to  mark  him,  after  looking  warily  from  Iris 
cabin- door,  lift  a  plank  from  the  broken 
flooring  and  take  from  beneath  it  a  pouch 
well  filled  with  silver  pieces  ;  and  stranger 
still  to  see  him,  soon  afterward,  mounted 
upon  his  donkey,  a  long,  empty  sack  hung 
across  the  shabby  old  saddle,  his  cloak  flap 
ping  in  the  keen  morning  air,  and  a  smile 
of  something  like  joy  upon  his  face. 

"What  did  she  say?"  he  muttered  to  him 
self  as  he  rode  toward  the  distant  city. 
"Ah,  yes,  that  was  it—  'Lovely  green  trees 
hung  with  toys  and  all  kinds  of  beautiful 
things.'  " 

Jog-jog  went  the  donkey,  shambling  on  a 
little  more  quickly,  whenever  a  stray  team  or 
wagon  (and  there  were  more  of  them  that 
morning  than  usual)  passed  him  on  the  road. 
Into  the  bustling  city  at  last,  and  straight,  in 
spite  of  contrary  jerks  from  the  seat  of 
government,  to  the  wretched  looking  grocery 
where>  at  long  intervals,  the  hermit' s  supplies 
had  generally  been  procured. 

"Not  here,  old  friend,"  pleaded  his  mas 
ter,  with  a  gentle  application  of  the  stick  ; 
"g'long!" 


THE   HERMIT   OF   THE   HILLS.  33 

Glad  to  stop  anywhere  after  this  outrage 
to  his  better  judgment,  the  donkey  obeyed 
with  sullen  grace  when  his  rider  "pulled 
up-"  at  a  showy  store,  whose  windows  had 
within  a  day  or  two  blossomed  into  a  very 
paradise  of  toys  for  the  Christ-child' s  sake. 

"Here  they  are,"  said  Old  Pop,  "'toys 
and  all  kinds  of  beautiful  things.'  '  And, 
sack  in  hand,  he  slid  down  from  his  sullen 
friend,  and  hastened  through  the  gayly- 
decked  doorway. 

The  clerks  amused  at  his  singular  appear 
ance,  and  won  by  the  sight  of  the  big  pouch 
of  silver,  were  very  glad  to  attend  to  his 
demands.  The  most  tempting  articles  on 
their  shelves  were  promptly  taken  down  for 
his  inspection.  It  was  a  sight  worth  seeing — 
the  light  in  Old  Pop's  eye  as,  with  trembling 
hands,  he  dropped  toy  after  toy,  tenderly  into 
the  sack. 

"Give  me  what  the  boys  like.  Now  give 
me  something  for  girls,"  he  repeated  over  and 
over  again,  until  he  had  nearly  as  much  as 
the  donkey  could  carry.  After  paying  for 
his  treasures,  and  counting  the  '  change '  two 
or  three  times,  the  old  man  went  into  an 


34  IRVINGTON   STOEIES. 

adjoining  candy-shop.  He  soon  came  out 
chuckling  softly  to  himself.  Spying  a  book 
store  directly  opposite,  he  hurried  across  the 
street,  heedless  of  the  staring  eyes  bent  from 
every  quarter  upon  him.  The  bookseller, 
too,  stared  when  he  saw  an  outlandish- 
looking  old  man  enter  his  store,  and,  settling 
a  huge  sack  upon  the  counter,  accost  him 
with— 

f l  Give  me  picture-books  for  the  babies — 
blue  pictures,  red  pictures.  '  Hey  diddle- 
diddle,  the  Cats  arid  the  Fiddle'— <  Old 
Woman  in  a  Shoe' — here,  put  them  in  this 
sack;  I'll  pay  for  them — ' Bean-stalks  and 
Giant-killers'—  " 

Was  Memory  taking  him  back  to  his  own 
boyhood,  or  was  she  busy  with  later  years  ? 

That  night— it  was  Christmas  Eve — the 
Christ-child  sought  the  sleeper  again,  still 
with  the  same  holy  radiance,  the  same  human 
love  beaming  from  its  eyes. 

"I  have  come  to  play  with  thee,"  said  the 
silvery  voice. 

The  old  man  felt  his  infirmities  fall  away 
as,  with  a  bounding  heart,  he  sported  with 


THE  HEKMIT   OF   THE   HILLS.  35 

the  child,  and,  in  a  shower  of  golden  light, 
chased  it  round  and  round  the  hemlock- tree 
before  his  door.  When  at  last  he  clasped  it 
in  his  arms  the  little  one  nestled  in  his  bosom, 
saying  : 

"  Thou  knowest  me  now — peace  be  thine  !" 

With  these  sweet  words  still  lingering  in 

his  ear  the  sleeper  awoke,  a  new  life  flowing 

in  his  veins,  and  the  glorious  Christmas  dawn 

flooding  the  eastern  sky  with  splendor. 

It  was  to  be  a  busy  day  with  Old  Pop  ; 
for  he  had  much  to  do  at  home  (yes,  home 
now,  since  love  hallowed  it),  and  he  must  be 
in  the  village  betimes  to  confer  with  his  only 
male  acquaintance,  the  schoolmaster. 


IV. 

THE     CHRISTMAS-TREE. 

THE  schoolmaster  entered  heartily  into  the 
old  man's  feelings.      "I  never   taught  a 
better  set  of  boys  and  girls  than  there  are  in 
this  village,"  said  he.     "There  are  a  few  like 


36  IKVINGTON   STORIES. 

William  Kipley,  of  course,  who  never  could 
get  any  learning,  even  if  you  fed  them  with 
ground  school-books  all  their  days  ;  "but  I've 
two  youngsters  in  my  geography  class,  now, 
that  I  really  would — 

Old  Pop  hastened  to  assure  him  that  he 
had  no  doubt  of  it,  but  that  what  he  wanted 
at  present  was  to  attend  to  Christmas  mat 
ters. 

"  I've  most  forgotten  about  these  things," 
continued  the  old  man,  with  a  dazed  look. 
"It 'pears  to  me  it  used  to  be  stockings  and 
chimneys ;  but  the  child  said  '  lovely  green 
trees' — I  am  sure  she  did.  Help  me  to  make 
the  little  ones  happy,  Mr.  Schoolmaster! 
Tell 'em  all  to  come." 

The  astonished  teacher  looked  sharply  into 
Old  Pop's  eye,  to  see  if  he  were  not  wild  or 
crazy.  He  saw  a  light  there,  to  be  sure  ;  but 
it  was  not  the  light  of  insanity.  Grasping 
the  old  man' s  hand,  he  led  him  into  the  low 
building,  where  the  deserted  desks  stood 
speckled  with  ink-spots,  and  polished  with 
the  touch  of  restless  little  elbows. 

Soon  afterward,  a  notice,  in  great  dazzling 
letters,  appeared  upon  the  school-house  door. 


THE  HERMIT  OF  THE  HILLS.  37 

"THE  HERMIT  OF  THE  HILLS  INVITES  HIS 
FRIENDS  THE  CHILDREN,  ONE  AND  ALL,  TO 
VISIT  HIM  TO-DAY,  ON  THE  RINGING  OF  THE 
SCHOOL-HOUSE  BELL,  AT  NOON." 

Such  news  as  this  was  not  long  in  flying 
through  the  village.  The  children,  whose 
hearts  had  danced  to  the  tune  of  "  Merry 
Christmas"  since  before  daylight,  were  half 
wild  with  expectation. 

"Why,  what  can  it  mean?"  they  asked 
each  other,  with  wondering  eyes.  "  '  His 
friends,  the  children' — why  that's  the  queer 
est  part  of  it !" 

Even  the  grown  persons  were  filled  with 
astonishment  and  vague  uneasiness.  In  fact, 
they  would  have  put  their  fiat  against  pro 
ceeding  in  the  affair  at  all,  but  for  the  school 
master  ;  though  how  they  would  have  "paci 
fied"  the  children  under  a  denial,  I  cannot 
imagine. 

At  last  the  familiar  dingdong  from  the 
school-house  roof — sweeter  to  the  expectant 
ears  than  all  other  Christmas  bells — sounded 
forth  its  welcome  summons.  The  children, 


38  IKVINGTON   STOEIES. 

wrapped  in  their  thick  coats  and  warm 
shawls,  poured  forth  from  every  lane  in  the 
village — some  in  laughing  groups,  some 
alone,  and  some  with  arms  lovingly  en 
twined  ;  while  the  schoolmaster  trudged  on 
in  their  midst,  intending  to  form  them  into 
line  at  the  foot  of  the  hermit' s  hill. 

This  tremendous  feat  of  drill- sergeantry 
finally  accomplished,  the  procession  com 
menced  its  ascent. 

"  Three  cheers  for  Old  Pop  !"  cried  half  a 
dozen  voices,  as  his  familiar  form,  wrapped  in 
the  unfamiliar  cloak,  advanced  to  meet  them. 
A  startled,  half-way  response  was  the  result. 
Most  of  the  children  were  too  surprised,  too 
expectant,  to  take  up  a  new  idea  suddenly  ; 
but  when  the  top  was  fairly  reached,  and 
their  host  received  them  with  a  hearty  wel 
come  and  extended  arms  ;  and  when,  albove 
all,  they  saw  what  had  been  prepared  for 
them,  shout  after  shout  rent  the  air. 

c  c  Oh,  what  a  beautiful  tree  !  Hurrah  ! 
Three  cheers  for  Old  Pop  !  Hurrah !  hurrah ! 
hurrah!" 

Dozens  of  the  frantic  little  creatures  rushed 
to  the  door-step,  where  Old  Pop  had  seated 


THE  HERMIT   OF   THE   HILLS.  39 

himself,  and  threw  their  arms  about  his  neck. 
Elsie  was  foremost  among  them. 

"Poor  Old  Pop!  dear  Old  Pop!"  she 
whispered,  pressing  her  rosy  cheek  close  to 
his  sunken  face  ;  ' '  why,  you'  re  crying,  and 
there  you've  made  us  all  so  glad !" 

After  a  moment  the  old  man  walked 
forward,  trembling  with  newly-found  happi 
ness. 

"Mr.  Schoolmaster,"  said  he,  "you  know 
the  wants  of  these  little  creatures  better  than 
I  do ;  will  you  give  them  each  something 
from  the  tree  in  Old  Pop's  name  ?" 

It  was  beautiful  to  see  the  merry  crowd 
sobered  in  a  moment  by  their  new  friend's 
emotion,  and  to  note  the  reverence  with 
which  they  regarded  him  as  he  stood  there 
holding  Elsie' s  hand. 

As  the  schoolmaster  approached  the  tree, 
all  eyes  were  turned  toward  it  with  intense 
interest ;  and  well  they  might  be,  for  never 
was  Christmas-tree  more  generously  laden. 
It  was  the  same  hemlock  that  had  stood, 
phantom-like,  in  the  early  dawn,  like  the 
shadow  in  the  old  man' s  heart.  Now,  in  the 
pure  daylight,  every  delicate  fibre  quivered 


40  IRVINGTON   STORIES. 

with  its  fulness  of  life  even  in  the  frost  of 
mid-winter.  From  Heaven's  own  fountain 
the  rich  sunshine  poured  upon  it,  tipping 
every  branch  with  golden  light.  ISTo  need  of 
waxen  candles  there.  Glowing  and  spark 
ling  in  the  sunlight  hung  "toys  and  all  kinds 
of  beautiful  things"  in  abundance ;  not  a 
color  of  the  rainbow  but  peeped  out  from  the 
labyrinth  of  green.  Not  a  branch  but  was 
heavy  with  "  things  that  boys  or  girls  would 
like  ;"  and  I  do  believe  that,  with  clearer  than 
mortal  eyes,  all  might  have  seen  a  sweet  image 
of  the  Christ- child  hovering  above  the  tree. 

The  silence  was  broken  by  the  school 
master,  who,  true  to  his  calling,  shouted  in  a 
brave,  class-day  tone, 

' '  Take  your  places  !  Boys  on  this  side  of 
the  open  space,  girls  on  the  other!" 

It  is  useless  to  dwell  further  upon  the 
scene,  or  to  attempt  to  describe  the  delight  in 
each  young  heart  when,  in  the  name  of  Old 
Pop,  the  gifts  were  distributed  one  by  one. 
Many  a  hearty  "Thank  you,  Sir!"  and 
round  after  round  of  "cheers  for  Old  Pop," 
rang  out  in  every  possible  note  before  the  joy 
ous  little  folk  were  gone. 


THE   HERMIT   OF   THE  HILLS.  41 

As  they  ran  down  the  hill,  laughing,  shout 
ing,  and  talking,  in  excited  groups,  about 
their  pretty  gifts,  and  the  blessed  change  in 
"Mr.  Pop,"  the  trembling  old  man  stood 
near  the  hemlock,  between  Elsie  and  the 
schoolmaster,  watching  them  until  Mrly  out 
of  sight. 

Every  movement  of  the  excited  children, 
from  the  tripping  of  their  feet  to  the  very 
bobbing  of  their  heads,  told  of  the  delight  he 
had  caused.  I  wish  he  could  have  heard 
their  words  as  well ;  especially  those  of  an 
old-fashioned  pair  who,  hand  in  hand,  saun 
tered  down  the  hill,  wondering  what  could 
have  wrought  such  an  astonishing  change  in 
Old  Pop. 

"Only  think,  Johnny,'1  said  the  younger 
one  of  the  two,  "  I  kissed  him — upon  my 
word  I  did  !  And  he  patted  my  head  so 
softly,  it  almost  made  me  cry— 

"Made  you  cry!"  exclaimed  her  compan 
ion,  rather  scornfully,  as  he  looked  up  from  a 
survey  of  his  best  boots,  "What  for?  You 
girls  cry  when  you're  hurt  and  cry  when 
you're  pleased,  as  far  as  I  can  see  :  but,  if 
you  won't  tell  anybody,  I'll  own  up  that  a 


42  IKVINGTON   STOKIE6. 

great  big  lump  got  in  my  throat  when  he 
clasped  his  hands  and  looked  as  if  he  wanted 
to  say  something  and  couldn't.  It  seemed  to 
me  as  if  he  loved  us  all  in  regular  earnest. 
I'm  going  to  work  for  him  every  Saturday 
this  winter — that  I  am.  Cracky  !  look  at 
Will  Ripley's  skates  !" 

Will  grinned  with  delight  as  he  held  up  his 
treasures — "  Strapped,  and  all  complete  !"  he 
cried  exultingly. 

The  next  moment  he  was  teasing  Jennie 
Todd  to  let  him  take  "just  one  bite"  off  her 
pair  of  sugar  doves. 

"Indeed  I  shan't  do  any  such  thing," 
pouted  Jennie,  "they're  too  beautiful  to  eat." 

"They're  meant  to  eat,  anyhow,"  was 
Will's  ungrammatical  reply.  "Don't  you 
see  their  tails  are  ever  so  much  too  long  ? 
Just  let  me  shape  'em  off  for  you  ;  I  think 
you  might !' ' 

"Yes,  you  would  s?iape  them,  I  warrant 
you,"  laughed  Jennie,  as  she  bounded  off, 
almost  knocking  over  a  little  girl  who  was 
carrying  a  pretty  doll  in  the  most  motherly 
style. 

"Oh,  what  a  lovely  doll!"  cried  Jennie, 


THE  HERMIT   OF  THE   HILLS.  43 

by  way  of  atonement ;  ' '  and  you'  ve  wished 
for  one  such  a  long  time,  Fanny  !" 

"Yes,  I'm  delighted!"  ansAvered  Fanny, 
hugging  her  present,  "  and  I'm  so  glad  that 
Elsie  Brown  has  one  too.  Old  Pop  handed  it 
to  her  himself, — it's  a  splen-did  one,  bigger 
even  than  mine." 

Funny  shadows  were  thrown  on  the  frozen 
ground  that  morning — shadows  that  probably 
had  never  fallen  on  the  Hermit' s  hill  before— 
of  wooden  horses  and  little  carts ;  and  jack- 
knives  and  tools  and  sleds  and  skates ; 
whips,  pop-guns,  swords,  jumping-jacks  and 
fluttering  books — dozens  of  other  things 
besides  ;  and  all  dancing  and  bobbing  along 
among  the  swift  shadows  of  children,  who 
soon  rushed  panting  into  their  homes. 


44  IRVINGTON   STORIES. 

V. 

A    DISCOVERY. 

OLD  Pop's  name  fairly  rang  in  the  village 
on  that  Christmas  Day  ;  and  nearly  every 
time  it  was  spoken  an  unuttered  blessing 
went  with  it. 

Meantime  the  changed  old  man  turned  from 
his  long,  wistful  gaze  as  the  last  loiterer 
disappeared.  Elsie  and  the  schoolmaster 
were  still  Tbeside  him. 

"  We  must  go  now,  my  friend,"  said  the 
latter,  extending  his  hand ;  "I  promised 
this  little  girl' s  mother  that  I  would  take  her 
back  before  sundown." 

Elsie  clung  to  Old  Pop's  cloak. 

"Come  with  us,"  she  urged;  "  do  come; 
we  cannot  go  and  leave  you  here  alone  on 
these  cold  hills." 

' i  But  I  am  not  alone  any  more,  my  child, ' ' 
said  the  old  man,  gently  stroking  Elsie's 
curls  as  he  spoke. 

"  Oh  !  I  am  so  glad.  I  shall  love  the  dear 
Christ-child  more  than  ever  now!"  cried 


THE  HERMIT   OF   THE  HILLS.  45 

Elsie.  "I  knew  he  would  come  to  you  on 
Christmas  Eve.  But  you  surely  won't  stay 
here  all  by  yourself  now  that  every  one  will 
love  you  ?' ' 

"Every  one,  child  !" 

"Yes,  every  one;  why  not?  But  what 
makes  you  always  call  me  '  child  ?'  My  name 
is  Elsie." 

The  hermit  gave  a  sharp  cry,  and  would 
have  fallen  had  not  the  schoolmaster  held 
him  with  a  strong  arm. 

"Elsie!"  he  repeated,  in  a  whining  voice, 
as  they  led  him  into  the  warm  hut,  i '  I  had 
a  little  girl  called  Elsie  once  ;  where  is  she  ? 
Oh  !  she  is  gone,  gone  !" 

Raising  his  head,  he  looked  yearningly 
into  the  child' s  face.  He  shook  his  head. 

"No,  no — not  like  my  Elsie — she  was 
taller— her  eyes  were  darker — black  hair — 
she  was  all  I  had — but  she  left  me.  She  did 
come  back  once,  but  I  drove  her  away  ;  and 
then,  then,"  he  continued,  raising  his  voice 
almost  to  a  scream,  ' '  she  died ;  died  alone 
and  uncared  for  ;  no  friend,  not  one  to— 

He  stopped  short,  glaring  wildly  upon 
them. 


46  IRVINGTON   STOKIES. 

"Oh!"  cried  Elsie,  shuddering,  "do  not 
look  so.  Speak  to  me — for  the  dear  Christ- 
child's  sake  do  not  look  so  !" 

The  schoolmaster  bent  over  him  sooth 
ingly. 

"My  friend,  God  is  good;  there  is  some 
balm  for  this  trouble  if  you  will  wait  his 
time." 

The  old  man  bowed  his  head  upon  Elsie' s 
shoulder,  sobbing  like  a  little  child. 

"Poor  Old  Pop!"  she  murmured,  patting 
his  arm  softly.  "  There  now,  you  will  come  ; 
I  know  you  will.  Mother  will  be  so  good,  so 
kind  to  you — she  is  to  everybody — though 
she  has  never  seen  you.  Say  you'll  come  : 
it's  too  lonely  for  you  here." 

"Elsie  !"  exclaimed  the  schoolmaster,  who 
had  walked  to  the  door  for  an  instant, 
"here  is  your  mother  coming  up  the  hill !" 

Elsie  gave  a  joyous  cry.  "Oh  !  I  am  so 
glad.  Now  you  will  see  mother,"  she  whis 
pered  to  the  old  man,  in  a  tone  that  implied 
that  "  seeing  mother"  was  a  balm  for  every 
earthly  ill. 

"  Your  long  absence  has  alarmed  her,"  said 
the  schoolmaster.  "Come  in,"  he  added, 


THE  HERMIT   OF  THE  HILLS.  47 

holding  wide  the  door.  ' '  Elsie  is  here,  safe 
with  her  friends  ;  forgive  me  for  not  taking 
her  to  you  long  ago.  But  how  did  you  find 
us?" 

"The  village  boys  showed  me  the  way," 
panted  the  mother  as,  flushed  with  her  rapid 
walk  over  the  hills,  she  walked  up  to  Elsie, 
throwing  a  quick  look  of  curiosity  upon  the 
old  man  as  she  spoke. 

He  raised  his  head  suddenly  at  the  voice. 

" Elsie!"  screamed  the  mother,  "who  is 
this  ?" 

"  Who  ?  mother.  Why  Old  Pop  that  used 
to  chase  us  children,  you  know,  but  he' s  real 
good  now.  1  love  him  ever  so  m— 

Even  while  she  was  speaking,  the  hermit, 
after  staring  fixedly  at  the  comely  woman, 
like  one  in  a  puzzled  dream,  staggered  toward 
her  with  outstretched  hands. 

"Elsie!" 

"  Father  !" 

Locked  in  each  other' s  arms,  laughing  and 
crying  by  turns,  they  could  not  see  the  look 
of  wonderment  in  the  child's  eyes,  or  even 
hear  the  schoolmaster,  who,  with  lifted 
head,  exclaimed  fervently- 


48  IBVINGTON   STOEIES. 

"  God  is  good!" 

That  night  father,  daughter,  and  grand 
child  sat  together  by  a  cheerful  hearth  in  the 
village — Elsie' s  home,  where  for  the  past  four 
months  she  had  lived  alone  with  her  mother. 

It  would  require  a  volume  to  detail  all  the 
circumstances  that  had  caused  the  long  sepa 
ration  and  final  meeting  of  father  and  daugh 
ter.  It  must  suffice  to  say  that  Old  Pop's  real 
name  was  Robert  Hall ;  that,  years  ago,  his 
wife  had  died,  soon  after  the  birth  of  their 
only  child,  Elsie,  who  had  grown  up  a  moth 
erless  girl,  wilful,  but  warm-hearted  and 
generous.  In  time  she  had  loved  a  young 
man  against  her  father's  wishes.  Self-willed 
and  reckless,  she  had  married  him  in  spite  of 
all  obstacles,  and  her  father  had  forbidden  her 
to  ever  enter  the  old  homestead  again.  Once, 
after  her  marriage,  she  had  tried  to  win  his 
forgiveness,  but  was  repiilsed  in  bitterness. 

"  Go  with  him  you  have  chosen,"  cried  the 
incensed  father.  "You  are  my  child  no 
more!"  This  was  her  last  attempt.  All  the 
pride  of  her  nature  aroused,  she  went  forth 
into  the  wide  world,  never  again  to  enter 


THE  HEKMIT   OF  THE  HILLS.  49 

the  old  home  where  she  had  passed  her 
happy  girlhood.  Her  husband  soon  ceased 
to  value  the  wife  whom  he  knew  to  Ibe  an 
ungrateful  daughter.  Indeed,  his  course 
changed  in  a  short  time  from  indifference  to 
cruelty.  He  was  a  coarse-minded,  worthless 
fellow,  and  the  tavern  soon  finished  what 
careless  early  training  had  begun.  He  carried 
his  unhappy  wife  hundreds  of  miles  away 
into  the  Western  Country,  and  in  a  few  years 
he  died.  Left  alone  with  her  infant  daughter, 
the  young  widow  had  drifted  about,  raised 
above  want,  yet  feeling  that  not  a  spot  on 
earth  was  her  rightful  home.  Those  fear 
ful  words,  "You  are  my  child  no  more," 
haunted  her  night  and  day — while  every 
hour  her  heart  grew  heavier  with  the  love 
and  sense  of  duty  toward  her  father,  that 
came  too  late.  He  had  sold  his  homestead, 
and  not  a  man  or  woman  in  his  native  village 
could  tell  her  whither  he  had  flown. 

Meanwhile  the  poor  father,  with  that  blind 
ness  which  sometimes  falls  upon  noble 
natures,  had  resolutely  closed  his  heart 
against  his  child.  When,  at  last,  he  tried 
to  learn  her  fate,  all  he  could  gather  were 


50  IRVINGTON   STOEIES. 

vague  accounts  tending  to  show  that  she  had 
died  childless  in  the  far  West,  in  sorrow  and 
in  want. 

The  rest  of  their  story  can  readily  Ibe 
imagined.  Perhaps  a  stronger  Will  and  a 
deeper  Love  than  theirs  had  drawn  them, 
unconsciously,  nearer  and  nearer  together. 
Certain  it  is,  the  penitent  daughter  had  said 
to  a  kind-hearted  neighbor  in  the  Western 
settlement  from  which  she  had  moved—  ' 

"You  ask  me  why  I  go  away.  I  do  not 
know  any  reason,  except  that  a  hand  seems 
leading  me  eastward — I  have  no  settled  home 
on  earth  now." 


VI. 

HOME. 

ui^\  OOD  evening,  Mr.  Hall,"  said  the  school- 
\J  master,  just  eight  months  after  Christ 
mas,  as  he  walked  into  dame  Elsie's  cozy 
parlor  with  the  air  of  a  privileged  friend— 
"Why,  how  well  you  are  looking!  and  so 
spruce,  too  !  I  declare  you  are  twenty  years 
younger  than  you  were  last  winter." 


THE  HERMIT   OF  THE  HILLS.  51 

"Yes,  yes;  younger,  stronger  in  every 
way.  There  is  nothing  like  happiness  for 
working  these  changes,  my  friend,"  replied 
the  glad-eyed  old  man,  shaking  his  neigh 
bor's  hand  warmly  while  he  was  speaking. 
"Ha!  ha!  and  my  daughter  Elsie  too— she 
does  not  look  very  miserable  either,  if  I  see 
aright." 

Dame  Elsie  smiled  and  blushed ;  while 
the  schoolmaster  answered  the  mischievous 
twinkle  in  the  father's  eye  with— 

"No,  indeed,  Sir  ;  and  she  never  shall  be 
miserable  if  you  and  I  can  help  it," 

There  seemed  more  to  be  said  upon  this 
point ;  but  as  the  schoolmaster  whispered  it 
rather  softly,  and  did  not  say  it  either  to  us 
or  to  our  old  friend,  perhaps  it  does  not  con 
cern  us. 

Grandfather  might  possibly  have  fallen  into 
a  doze  by  the  open  window  if  a  sunny-haired 
little  lassie  had  not  run  into  the  room  just 
then,  and  taken  her  accustomed  seat  upon 
his  footstool. 

"Oh,  grandfather!"  she  began,  "such  a 
time  as  the  boys  had  to  find  him  !  But  they 


52  IEVINGTON  STOKIES. 

caught  him  at  last ;  and  where  do  you  think 
he  had  strayed  to  ?" 

"  I'm  sure  I  don't  know,  my  dear;  but  I 
felt  certain  enough  of  him,  with  every  young 
ster  in  the  village  on  the  look-out." 

"  Well,  grandfather,  you'll  never  guess. 
Why,  they  found  him  on  the  top  of  Hemlock 
Hill  (we  children  gave  it  that  name),  where 
the  dear  old  hut  is,  you  know.  Yes,  there 
he  was,  browsing  away,  just  as  happy  as  you 
please." 

"  You  must  thank  the  boys  for  me,  Elsie- 
God  bless  them  !" 

"I  will,"  she  answered.  "  And  now, 
grandfather,  tell  me  something." 

"Well,  puss,  I'll  tell  you  a  fine  compli 
ment  Henry  has  paid  me. 

"A  compliment!"  clapping  her  hands. 
"  What  is  it,  grandfather?" 

"He  says  I  am  looking  twenty  years 
younger  than  I  did  last  winter.  What  do 
you  say  to  that — hey  V ' 

"  I  say  it's  no  compliment  at  all,"  returned 
Elsie,  shaking  her  head.  "You  were  just 
right  always." 

' '  No,   no,    not    always ;    not    before    you 


THE   HERMIT   OF   THE   HILLS.  53 

came  to  me,  darling,  in  my  desolation  and 
sinfulness — came  to  cheer  a  lonely,  cross  old 
man." 

Elsie  stroked  his  knee,  gently,  without 
replying,  and  he  continued— 

"  But  for  that,  the  crust  might  never  have 
fallen  from  my  heart — the  film  from  my 
eyes.  What  "blessed  providence,  my  little 
girl,  "brought  us  together  !" 

"It  was  the  Christ-child,  grandfather," 
cried  Elsie,  earnestly;  "oh,  it  was  the 
Christ-child!" 


CUSHAMEE; 


OR, 


THE   BOY'S   WALK. 


AHILDBEN,  big  and  little,  hearken  to  the 
\J  story  of  Lulu  and  Thomas  Laffer ! 

In  a  pleasant  room,  striped  with  deepening 
shade  and  setting- sunlight,  a  little  girl  lately 
sat  talking  with  two  dear  friends — her  cat 
and  her  doll. 

She  was  rocking  on  a  pretty  wicker  chair ; 
the  cat  lay  at  her  feet  listening. 

This  was  Lulu  Laffer. 

"Dear  little  Cushamee — precious  little 
Cushamee,"  she  said,  hugging  the  doll  with 
all  her  might,  ' '  what  are  you  looking  at  with 
your  big  blue  eyes?" 

" Mam-ma!"  cried  Cushamee,  who  was  a 
talking  doll. 

"Oh!  Pussy,   did    you    hear  that?     She 


CUSHAMEE.  55 

spoke  without  my  touching  the  wires  at  all — 
at  least  if  I  touched  them  I  didn't  know  it." 

Most  persons  would  have  declared  that 
Pussy  only  said,  "Mieow!"  But  Lulu  had 
not  been  long  enough  in  the  w^orld  to  have 
her  ears  dulled ;  so  she  heard  the  rest  of  the 
cat's  answer  quite  distinctly. 

"That's  a  fine  doll,  Lulu  ;  I  only  wish  my 
kittens  could  speak  as  plainly.  Put  her 
down  here,  do,  and  let  me  tumble  her  about 
awhile." 

"No  indeed  you  sha'n't,  Pussy.  Lie  still, 
and  behave  youself.  Do  you  want  to  see  me 
shut  her  eyes,  Pussy  ?' ' 

Pussy  winked,  as  if  to  say — "You  can't 
doit?" 

"Ha!  ha!"  laughed  Lulu,  "you  shall 
see!" — and  the  doll's  eyes  were  closed  in  a 
twinkling. 

"Now  go-sleepy,  Cushamee — and  I'll  sing 
to  you — 

"By!  by! 

Never  fear — 
Mamma's  watching 
Baby  dear." 

"  Pa-pa,"  cried  the  doll,  in  a  whining  voice, 
without  opening  its  eyes. 


56  IRVHSTGTON   STOKIES. 


. . 


Oh!"  screamed  Lulu,  almost  throwing 
Cnshamee  down,  "I  declare  I  didn't  touch 
the  wire  then.  Isn't  it  strange  ?" 

" Nonsense!"  answered  Pussy,  blinking, 
"when  you  pat  her  you  move  the  wires 
without  knowing  it.  Now  don't  talk  to  me 
any  more — I'm  sleepy." 

Lulu  rocked  softly  and  quietly,  singing — to 
no  particular  tune— 

"  Cushamee,  Cushamee ! 

Pussy  won't  speak  to  me ! 
Go-sleepy,  Cushamee — " 

Just  then  a  terrible  pair  of  boots  sprang 
into  the  room.  Lulu's  brother  Tom  was  in 
them.  Puss  rose  slowly  up,  writing  an  S  in 
the  air  with  her  tail,  and  looked  at  Tom  with 
green  eyes.  » 

"Ha !  ha  t"  shouted  a  voice  that  seemed  to 
come  out  of  the  boots  ;  "I've  been  listening 
to  you,  Miss  Lulu.  Ha !  ha !  Big  thing 
on  dolls,—  ha!  ha!" 

Lulu  hugged  Cushamee  more  tightly  than 
ever,  and  told  him  to  ugo  away." 

"  Spiss-s  !  you  great,  ugly  stone-thrower, 
you  !"  hissed  the  cat  (but  Tom  could  not 
understand  her) ;  "  go  away!  spiss-s!"  There- 


CUSHAMEE.  57 

upon  Tom  treated  Pussy  to  a  song — dancing 
around  her  as  he  sang,  bowing  and  scraping 
at  the  end  of  every  line — 

"  A  cat  came  fiddling  out  of  a  barn, 

With  a  pair  of  bagpipes  under  her  arm ; 

She  could  sing  nothing  but  fiddle-cum-fee, 
The  mouse  has  married  the  bumble-bee ; 

Pipe — cat — bee — mouse — 

Who'll  go  quickest  out  of  the  house  ?" 

With  these  last  words,  came  a  kick  from 
the  boots — Puss  cried  pitifully  as  she  limped 
away. 

Lulu,  hoping  to  touch  Tom's  feelings, 
pulled  the  wires  slyly. 

"Mam-ma — Pap-pa,"  cried  the  doll,  open 
ing  its  big  blue  eyes. 

Tom  sneered. 

"  Ha  !  ha  !  <  Cushamee,'  indeed  !  Call  that 
saying  '  papa'  and  '  mamma'  —  do  you  ? 
And  when  the  wax  balls  roll  over,  you  call 
it  'shutting  its  eyes' — do  you?  Talking  to 
the  cat,  too,  like  a  little  goose — Lulu,  you're 
a  baby  !" 

"I'm  not  a  baby !"  retorted  Lulu,  sobbing  : 
"  I'm  a  big  girl.  You're  a  baby  yourself." 

"Yes,"    pursued    Tom,    planting    himself 


58  IRVINGTON   STORIES. 

before  her,  in  a  tantalizing  way.  i  i  When  you 
see  me  rocking  dolls  and  talking  to  cats,  I 
will  Ibe  a  baby— I  own  it.  Why  don't  you 
go  out-doors  and  play?" 

"I  haye  been  out  playing  nearly  all  day," 
answered  Lulu,  wiping  her  eyes  ;  ' '  and  oh, 
Tommy,  what  do  you  think !  my  walking- 
doll  went  alone,  all  the  way  down  the  brick 
walk,  and — 

"  There  you  are  again,  you  naughty  child  ! 
always  talking  about  dolls— 

"  Oh  !  Tom,  that  isn't  naughty — quarrelling 
is  naughty,  and  disobedience,  and  such  things, 
but—" 

"  I  tell  you  it  is !"  roared  Tom  furiously  ; 
<  I'll  smash  all  their  ugly  little  heads,  if  you 
don't  stop  it.  Pshaw !  I  did'nt  mean  to 
make  you  cry.  Girls  are  babies,  anyhow! 
Before  I'd  be  a  girl,  I'd—" 

"Meow  !"  suggested  Pussy— 

"Yes,  I'd  meow!  Ha!  ha!  that's  pretty 
good!  I  was  going  to  say — before  I'd  be  a 
girl,  I'd  be  a—" 

"Pap-pa!"  squeaked  the  doll,  for  Lulu 
was  patting  it  now,  in  great  agitation. 

Tom,  in  quite  a  passion,  declared  the  room 


CUSHAMEE.  59 

was  bewitched.  Just  as  he  was  about  to 
finish  his  sentence  the  supper-bell  rang.  He 
rushed  down  stairs,  intent  on  begging  for 
at  least  six  plates  of  bread  and  molasses. 

Lulu  followed,  and,  after  putting  Pussy's 
supper  on  the  hearth,  sat  down,  meekly, 
beside  her  brother. 

This  was  Thomas  Laffer. 

That  night  he  chuckled,  as  he  pulled  off 
his  boots.  "  Ha  !  ha!  I  think  I've  shamed 
her  pretty  well  out  of  it  by  this  time.  Such 
nonsense — pooh  !  If  I  were  king,  I'  d  cut  off 
the  head  of  every  doll  in  the  land  ;  or  else 
I'd  hang  all  the  girls.  They're  not  much 
use,  anyhow ;' '  and  Tom,  kicking  off  his 
clothes,  scampered  across  the  room  (he  had 
a  way  of  standing  upon  his  head,  and  throw 
ing  his  feet  against  the  wall,  just  before  he 
jumped  into  bed) ;  instantly  he  stopped  short, 
screaming, 

"Oh,  oh!     Come,  quick— mo-ther !" 

His  mother  ran  in.  "What  is  the  matter, 
dear?" 

"Oh,  ho,  boo — hoo  !  I've  run  a  needle, 
or  something,  into  my  foot !" 

True  enough,  it  was  a  needle.     Lulu  was 


60  IRVINGTO^   STOEIES. 

called.  She  held  a  light  and  cried  for  "  poor 
Tom,"  while  the  mother  fumbled  at  the  twitch 
ing  foot. 

"  There,  Tom— it's  out !"  cried  the  mother, 
delighted.  "Now  go  to  bed  at  once;  and 
don't  play  about  the  room  with  bare  feet." 

"  Yes,  ma'am,"  answered  Tom,  quite  sub 
dued. 

He  lay  tossing  half  the  night  upon  his 
little  cot.  Every  one  else  in  the  house  was 
asleep.  Only  the  distant  barking  of  dogs 
could  be  heard.  The  moon  was  bright  and 
round  ;  and  restless  frogs  were  jumping  in 
the  shadows  of  the  garden. 

' i  Pap-pa !"  squeaked  a  voice  close  by  Tom' s 
ear. 

He  started  up— "  Who  calls  ?"  said  he. 

"  /call,"  answered  the  voice,  "  Cushamee. 
Get  up!" 

Tom  shivered,  and  strove  to  wake  his 
mother  who  slept  in  the  next  room  ;  but  his 
voice  died  every  time  he  tried  to  scream  or 
utter  her  name. 

"  Get  up  !"  repeated  the  voice,  sternly. 

Tom  tried  to  lie  still,  but  could  not.     He 


CUSHAMEE.  61 

slid  slowly  out  of  the  bed,  not  daring  to  lift 
Ms  eyes. 

"Come  with  me,"  said  Cushamee. 

How  dreadfully  her  feet  sounded  upon  the 
floor  !  They  creaked,  they  rattled  and  clicked, 
jerking  her  forward  with  a  strange  motion. 
But  they  never  stopped,  and  Tom  was  forced 
to  follow.  On  they  went,  out  in  the  hall ; 
down  the  stairway ;  into  the  garden — every 
blade  of  grass  pricked  Tom's  bare  feet,  just  as 
the  needle  did, — still  he  could  not  stop. 

At  last  they  paused  by  the  garden  brook. 
In  an  instant  slimy  things  crawled  and 
sprawled  over  him  from  head  to  foot,  splut 
tering  in  his  ears ;  trailing  over  his  eyes ; 
sliding  up  and  down  his  nose,  neck,  legs, 
and  arms ;  wriggling  and  twisting  in  his 
hair. 

"Oh!"  he  cried,  shuddering,  "what  are 
these?" 

"Nothing,"  said  Cushamee,  rolling  her 
great  eyes  at  him,  ' c but  the  frogs  and  harmless 
creatures  you  have  tortured.  Bite  off  his 
arms  and  legs  now,  my  good  fellows,  and  see 
how  he  likes  it !" 

"Murder!    murder!"    roared  Tom.    "Oh, 


62  IRVINGTON   STORIES. 

Cushamee,  I'll  never  do  it  again  !  Murder  1 
murder!  they're  killing  me  !" 

"Grluck!"  muttered  an  old  toad,  near  his 
ear;  "bite  away,  comrades,  he  hasn't  any 
feeling— it  doesn't  hurt  him  a  bit ;  the  idea  of 
an  animal  that  can't  jump  the  length  of  his 
own  body,  feeling  any  pain,  is  absurd." 

"Murder  !  murder  !"  screamed  Tom. 

Cushamee  held  up  her  hand.  4  i  There,  that 
will  do  !  Jump  back  into  the  water,  my 
friends.  You  have  bitten  him  enough  for  the 
present.  We  have  other  work  to  do  to-night." 

Next  she  rattled  on  towards  the  well.  Tom, 
trembling  with  fear,  ventured  to  glance  at  her 
in  the  moonlight.  She  looked  just  as  she  did 
while  in  Lulu's  arms,  except  that  she  was 
larger,  whiter,  and  had  a  fierce  look  in  her 
rolling  eyes.  Her  feet  were  different ;  but 
that  was  because  she  had  on  a  pair  of  shoes 
such  as  the  walking-dolls  wear. 

On  the  curb  of  the  well  sat  two  kittens  and 
an  old  cat. 

"Here  he  is,"  said  Cushamee;  "do  your 
duty." 

The  kittens  glared  at  him,  but  seemed  to 
have  no  other  life.  The  old  cat  sprang  upon 


CUSHAMEE.  63 

his  head,  and  at  a  command  from  Cushauiee 
jumped  with  him  into  the  well.  Instantly 
the  two  kittens  tumbled  in,  and  clung  to  his 
neck.  Tom  struggled  in  the  black  water  and 
rose  to  the  surface  tAVO  or  three  times ;  each 
time  the  cat  and  her  two  kittens  pulled  him 
-under. 

"  Don't  let  him  go,  children!"  hissed  the 
cat;  "he  drowned  you,  and  now  you  may 
show  4iim  how  it  feels ;  you  can't  hurt  him 
much,  to  be  sure,  for  how  can  an  animal  who 
can't  see  in  the  dark,  and  never  eats  mice, 
have  any  feeling  V ' 

"  Help  !"  gasped  Tom,  the  last  tune  he  arose. 
"Help  !  or  I  perish." 

"Take  hold  of  the  well-rope,"  rattled 
Cushamee's  voice,  coldly. 

He  obeyed,  and  something  drew  him  up 
ward  ;  the  old  cat  scratching  his  face  all  the 
time  as  he  rose.  Faint  and  dripping,  he  stood 
once  more  upon  the  ground.  Cushamee  mo 
tioned  him  to  follow  her.  After  a  long  tramp 
she  halted.  The  songs  of  birds  filled  the  air ; 
they  came  nearer  and  nearer,  and  hovered 
over  his  head ;  each  bird  gave  a  shrill  cry  as 
it  saw  him. 


64  IBVINGTON   STOEIES. 

Tom  looked  upward,  and  noticed  in  the 
bright  moonlight,  that  each  one  held  a  stone  be 
tween  its  feet  nearly  as  large  as  its  whole  body. 

"  These  are  the  birds  you  have  frightened 
and  pelted,"  said  Cushamee ;  "they  will 
show  you  how  stones  feel." 

"Tu  whoo  !  hoo-whoo  !"  screeched  an  old. 
owl,  perched  near  by  ;  "  fire  away !  He  can't 
suffer  though,  for  how  can  an  animal  without 
wings  have  any  feeling  3"  * 

Instantly  the  stones  began  to  rain  upon  Tom. 
In  vain  he  bent  and  wriggled  and  groaned  — 
every  one  hit  him  upon  a  tender  spot.  Soon 
owls,  squirrels,  and  hosts  of  little  creatures 
joined  in  the  attack. 

"Take  that!"  they  hooted  and  squealed, 
"  and  that— and  that !" 

Bruised,  bleeding,  half  mad  with  pain,  Tom 
cried  in  vain  for  mercy.  Not  until  the  birds, 
growing  weary,  flew  away,  one  by  one,  did  the 
storm  of  stones  grow  less.  Finally,  Cushamee 
rattled  forward  again,  drawing  him  after  her 
as  by  some  invisible  cord. 

"  Oh,  stop  !"  cried  Tom  at  last ;  "  I  cannot 
walk,  the  sand  is  too  soft ;  I  am  sinking — 
sinking !" 


CUSHAMEE.  65 

"  Crawl  in  there,"  commanded  Cushamee, 
pointing  to  a  hole  in  the  ground. 

Tom  was  forced  to  obey.  He  soon  found 
himself  in  a  smoothly  finished  cavern — not 
very  large  ;  but  IK;  was  glad  enough  to  sit 
down  there  and  rest  his  bruised,  aching  body. 

He  could  not  see  Cushamee,  but  after  a 
moment,  he  heard  her  voice  saying,  ' '  Ants,  do 
your  duty ;  show  him  how  it  feels  to  have 
one's  house  trampled  down  over  one's  head." 

"We  know  him,"  buzzed  a  great  chorus; 
"he  has  destroyed  our  cities  many  a  time." 

Tom  sprang  up,  but  it  was  too  late  ;  the 
earth  was  already  falling  upon  him ;  down 
came  the  walls,  rumbling,  rushing  like  a  sea 
of  gravel ;  the  roof  was  falling  !  He  gasped, 
struggled,  and  tried  in  vain  to  call  for  help. 
For  a  w^hile  his  sufferings  were  fearful,  but 
Cushamee  had  not  done  with  him  yet.  Soon 
the  mountain  of  sand  seemed  to  roll  off  his 
body,  and  he  found  himself  once  more  beside 
the  terrible  doll. 

Scarcely  able  to  walk,  he  felt  compelled  to 

follow  her.     At  last,  he  sank  upon  the  grass 

from  sheer  exhaustion.     Clatter,  clatter,  click, 

click,   came  back  the   feet,  and  Cushamee' s 

5 


66  IRVINGTON   STOKIES. 

white  face  leaned  over  him.  She  had  grown 
to  a  prodigious  size,  and  her  eyes  rolled  and 
glared  at  him  with  savage  ferocity. 

u  Get  up  !"  she  shrieked,  shaking  him  with 
her  great  wooden  arms ;  i '  get  up  I  I  have 
not  done  with  you  yet." 

"I  can't,"  he  moaned;  "I  am  almost 
dead." 

"  Get  up,  you  little  scoundrel!"  and  she 
shook  him  until  his  very  bones  seemed  to 
crack;  "  I'll  teach  you  to  call  playing  with 
dolls  '  naughty. '  I'  11  teach  you  to  laugh  at 
the  innocent  sport  of  girls  !" 

At  this,  hundreds  of  bells  began  to  toll 
mournfully,  as  for  his  funeral. 

"  Mercy,  mercy  !"  he  sobbed. 

"ISTo  mercy  for  you!"  yelled  Cushamee, 
tumbling  him  about  as  a  tiger  would  a  kit 
ten ;  "no  mercy  for  you,  you  great  toad- 
killing,  kitten-drowning,  bird-stoning,  ant- 
mashing  young  villain  !  Playing  with  dolls 
is  naughty,  is  it? — s'-c-a-t —  '  and,  with  one 
tremendous  push,  she  sent  him  rolling  down 
the  hill. 

The  shock  made  him  open  his  eyes ;  he 
found  himself  sitting  upon  the  floor  in  his 


CUSHAMEE.  67 

night-gown.  Biddy  had  actually  pulled  him 
out  of  bed  ! 

"Get  up,  you  lazy  boy!"  she  cried,  in  a 
rage.  "  If  I  haven't  shuk  ye,  and  rung  the 
bell  till  the  arms  is  'most  off  uv  me  ;  and  you 
a-moanin'  like  every  thing,  but  not  a  bit  would 
ye  stir,  till  I  tumbled  ye  clane  out." 

Tom  hurriedly  put  on  his  clothes,  and  was 
surprised  to  rind  that  he  was  not  black  and 
blue  all  over. 

"Biddy,"  he  asked,  "is  my  back  bruised 
or  cut  ?  Is  it  bleeding <" 

"  Arrah !"  said  Biddy,  in  astonishment, 
"  nary  a  bit — what's  the  matter  wid  ye,  any 
way  V '  — and  she  bustled  away  to  fasten  Lulu' s 
dress. 

As  Tom  pulled  on  his  jacket,  lie  sighed 
softly  to  himself,  "Oh,  I'm  so  glad  it  was 
only  a  dream !" 

Lulu  has  had  fine  times  ever  since  that 
morning.  Tom  is  always  kind  to  her,  and 
never  thinks  of  laughing  at  her  dolls.  In 
deed  he  always  looks  very  solemn  whenever 
Cushamee  says  "  Pap-pa  !" 


68  IKVINGTON    STORIES. 


CAPT.  GEORGE,  THE  DRUMMER-BOY. 

A  STORY   OF   THE  REBELLION. 


INTRODUCING    CAPTAIN    GEORGE,    AND     SHOWING    HOW    HIS    COM 
PANY   TREATED   AN   UNWORTHY   MEMBER. 

RUB-A-DUB-DUB  —rub-a-dub-  dub— r-r-r- 
r — rat-tat,-  rat-tat — r-r-r— 

"  Hallo,  Jessup  !  what's  that'?"  exclaimed 
Kecruiting- officer  Stearns,  pricking  up  Ms  ears. 

" That's  Captain  George,  Sir,"  replied  Jes 
sup,  without  raising  his  eyes  from  the  musket- 
barrel  which  he  was  busily  polishing — "  that's 
Captain  George,  sir,  a  drumming  on  the  fence 
with  a  couple  of  bones." 

"Bring  him  in  here,"  said  Officer  Stearns. 

Jessup  went  out,  whistling,  and  soon  came 
back,  leading  a  bright-looking  lad  of  about 
fourteen  years,  who  bowed  and  blushed  as  he 
entered. 


THE   DRUMMER-BO  Y.  60 

"  Here' s  Captain  George,  Sir." 
"Glad  to   see  you,  Captain,"  said  Officer 
Stearns.     "  Who  taught  you  to  drum  in  that 
styleT 

"Nobody,  Sir,"  replied  George,  flushing 
between  the  fear  that  he  was  going  to  be 
court-martialled,  and  the  consciousness  that 
he  was  a  free,  American  citizen,  with  a  right 
to  drum  on  gate-posts  when  he  pleased. 

"Well,"  ventured  Jessup,  "  Tve  heard  of 
Nobody  doin'  most  every  thing,  but  I  never 
did  hear  of  his  givin'  drummin'  lessons  afore  !" 
"  Silence,  Sir,"  shouted  Lieutenant  Stearns, 
who  was  always  waging  an  undignified  war 
with  his  subordinate. 

Jessup    chuckled    under    his    breath,    and 
rubbed  the  tarnished  barrel  harder  than  ever. 
"Were  you  ever  drummer  to  a  regiment, 
George  f  pursued  the  Lieutenant. 

"Yes,  Sir — no,  Sir — that  is — I've  generally 
done  the  drumming  for  my  own  company, 
because  the  boy  that  owns  the  drum  don't 
know  how.  I  have  a  company,  Sir,  of  about 
twenty  boys,  here  in  the  village,  that  I've 
been  drilling  since  March— 

"He!    he!"   laughed  Jessup,   cautiously; 


70  IRVINGTOX   STORIES. 

"good  month  to  drill  in — March — lie  !  he  !" 
(A  fierce  look  from  the  Lieutenant  changed 
the  laugh  to  a  smothered  whistle.) 

' '  Aha  !  And  that  is  why  they  call  you 
1  Captain  George,'  is  it?" 

"Yes,  Sir." 

"Well,  Captain  George,  what  do  you  say 
to  leaving  your  company,  and  entering  into 
the  service  of  Uncle  Sam  as  a  drummer? 
You're  not  afraid  of  bullets — are  you  ?" 

George' s  eyes  flashed. 

"JSTo,  Sir.  I'll  go  to-morrow,  if  you  can 
get  mother' s  consent.  It  will  be  hard  to  get 
it,  though,  for  my  father  fell  in  the  battle  of 
Bull  Run  ;"  and  a  peculiar  look  settled  into 
the  boy' s  face. 

i 1  You  are  made  of  the  right  stuff,  I  see, 
and  long  for  a  tussle  with  the  rebels,  as  well 
as  the  best  of  us.  You've  a  father's  death 
to  revenge — eh  !" 

"  I've  a  father's  intention  to  carry  out,  Sir," 
answered  George,  quietly.  "The  last  words 
I  heard  him  say  were,  '  What  one  soldier  can 
do,  mother,  shall  be  done  toward  saving  the 
Union.'  I'd  like  to  finish  his  share  of  the 
work,  Sir,  if  I  could." 


THE  DEUMMEli-BOY.  71 

" Bully  for  you!"  cried  Jessup,  waving 
the  musket  over  his  head. 

"  Silence  !"  roared  the  Lieutenant.  "The 
next  time  you  make  any  of  your  outrageous 
racket  in  this  office,  you  clear,  Sir.  Do  you 
hear  that?" 

Jessup  muttered  that  he  "believed  he  did, 
as  he  wasn't  particularly  deaf." 

Just  then  a  party  of  boys  came  rushing 
down  the  main  street,  whistling  and  shouting 
for  their  "Captain"  in  the  most  un-military 
style. 

"You're  a  pretty  fellow!"  cried  one  of 
them,  at  last,  thrusting  a  headful  of  white 
hair  and  a  pair  of  fierce-looking  little  eyes  in 
at  the  door  of  the  recruiting-office.  "Here 
we've  been  looking  all  over  for  you,  and  Sam 
Tice  has  got  mad,  and  taken  his  drum  home. 
If  you're  going  to  drill  us,  come  on  !" 

1  i  Rather  an  insubordinate  company  this  of 
yours,  I  should  say,  Captain,"  remarked  the 
Lieutenant,  as  the  white  head  popped  out  as 
suddenly  as  it  had  appeared. 

George  laughed  —  and,  promising  officer 
Stearns  that  he  would  be  in  again  "towards 
evening,"  he  hastened  to  meet  his  gallant 


72  IKVINGTCW   STORIES. 

army,  now  playing  leap  frog  and  hop-scotch 
near  by. 

"  Boys,"  he  cried,  "  very  sorry  I  can't  drill 
yon  this  morning ;  I  must  go  home  right 
away." 

"What's  the  matter,  Capt'n?"  sneered  Na 
poleon  Carter,  one  of  the  roughest  boys  of  the 
company.  "  You  haven't  torn  your  clothes 
or  anything — have  you?  Maybe  you're  go 
ing  down  to  fight  Jeff.  Davis.  You  look  as 
if  you  were.  Give  him  my  compliments,  will 
you  ?  and  tell  him  I  hope  his  side  will  beat !" 

Thereupon,  a  plucky  little  fellow,  whose 
father  and  brother  were  in  the  Union  army, 
fell  upon  the  speaker,  and  threatened  to  "finish 
him"  if  he  didn't  "take  that  speech  back." 

"Take  it  back!"  shouted  half  a  dozen 
wrathful  voices.  "We  won't  have  any  seces 
sionists  here !" 

Napoleon  managed  to  free  himself  from  the 
clutch  of  his  assailant,  gasping,,  as  he  did  so— 

"  I  won't ;  my  folks  are  all  for  the  South — 
every  one  of  'em — and  I'll  speak  my  own 
sentiments  where  I  please." 

c  i  No,  you  sha'  n'  t — not  such  sentiments  as 
that !"  yelled  half  of  the  boys. 


THE  DKUMMER-BOY.  73 

Napoleon,  becoming  excited,  jumped  up  on 
the  box  of  the  pump,  and  shouted — "  Hurrah 
for  Jeff.  Davis!"  with  all  his  might. 

This  made  the  boys  furious.  "  We'll  Jeff. 
Davis  you  !"  cried  one  and  all,  as  they  rushed 
upon  him. 

In  vain  Napoleon  kicked  and  struggled  ;  he 
was  in  their  power  at  last. 

"Now,"  exclaimed  the  biggest  boy  of  the 
party,  "we'll  see  if  we  can  pump  a  little 
patriotism  into  you."  And  suiting  the  action 
to  the  word,  they  held  "young  secesh"  under 
the  spout  of  the  old  pump,  while  a  few  of 
their  number  took  possession  of  the  handle. 

"Hurrah  for  the  Union,  Mister  Carter,  be 
fore  we  count  'three,'  or  you  shall  have  a 
sousing,"  cried  the  biggest  boy. 

All  joined  in  the  chorus — "  ONE  ! — Two  !"- 

"Murder!"  screamed  Napoleon.  "  Hur 
rah  for  Jeff.  Dav— " 

"  TIIKEE  !  Give  it  to  him  !" — and  a  heavy 
stream  poured  over  the  shoulders  of  the  gal 
lant  secessionist. 

A  few  passers-by  halted  to  call  out— 

' '  Hallo  !  what  are  you  doing  there  fC ' 

' '  We  are  ducking  Napoleon  Carter, ' '  and 


74  IKVINGTON   STORIES. 

swered  one  of  the  small  "boys.     '  i  He'  s  been  a 
hurrahing  for  Jeff.  Davis  like  every  .thing." 

"  Pump  away,  then,"  called  out  one  of  the 
men  —  and  the  boys  did  pump  away  with  a 
will. 

"  Hold  up  !"  cried  the  biggest  boy  ;  "  we'll 
give  him  one  more  chance.     Now,  sir,  hurrah 
for  the  Union  before  we  count  three,  or— 
Here  Napoleon's  struggles  entirely  absorbed 
the  big  boy'  s  attention. 

The  chorus  struck  up  again,  while  cheers 
and  groans  resounded  on  every  side. 


"Hur  —  rah!"  gasped  Napoleon,  who,  half 
blinded  by  the  water,  believed  that  the  entire 
population  of  the  village  had  by  this  time 
turned  out  to  murder  him.  "Hur-rah-h 
for—" 

"Two!"  roared  the  boys.  "Hurrah  for 
what?" 

Coughing,  strangling,  and  crying,  poor  Na 
poleon  managed  to  stammer  out  — 

"The  Union!" 

He  was  released  at  once,  and  every  boy 
struck  an  attitude  of  defence  —  a  useless  pre 
caution,  for  Napoleon  did  not  wait  to  look 


THE  DKUMMEK-BOY.  75 

about  him.  Amid  the  cheers  and  groans  of 
his  conquerors  he  ran,  soaked  and  dripping, 
up  the  village  street.  History  records  that  he 
used  some  pretty  hard  words  as  he  flew  along  ; 
but,  as  they  did  not  relate  to  Jeff.  Davis,  and 
were  of  no  political  importance,  I  need  not 
repeat  them  here. 


II. 

THE    II  O  M  E  -  G  U  A  K  D  . 

MEANTIME,  Captain  George— who,  in  his 
haste  and  excitement,  had  not  waited  to 
hear  Napoleon' s  taunting  words — reached  his 
mother's  cottage,  and  rushed  very  uncere 
moniously  into  her  presence. 

"  Mother  !"  he  panted  ;  and  then  Ids  cour 
age  failed  him.  He  felt  brave  enough  to  be  a 
soldier — to  fight,  and,  if  need  be,  to  die  ;  but 
he  dared  not  face  the  questioning  look  in  his 
mother's  eyes. 

Nearly  an  hour  they  remained  together,  and 
then  the  boy' s  voice  broke  forth  in  a  glad 

"  Hurrah  !  God  bless  you,  mother  !" 

If,   tempted  by  this  burst  of  enthusiasm, 


76  IRVINGTON   STOEIES. 

a  listener  had  opened  the  door,  expecting 
to  see  a  fiery  youth  waving  an  American 
flag  over  his  head,  he  would  have  seen  only  a 
small  Tboy  sobbing  in  the  arms  of  a  mild-faced 
little  woman.  Bigger  men  than  Captain 
George  have  shed  tears  as  scalding  since 
the  war  commenced,  in  the  arms  of  women, 
smaller,  milder-looking  than  this  heroic  little 
mother. 

When  George  spoke  again,  it  was  to  promise 
her  that  she  should  never  have  cause  to  blush 
for  her  soldier-boy. 

"I  won't  keep  company  with  any  bad  fel 
lows,  mother,  I  promise  you  ;  I'll  think  of  you 
all,  every  hour  in  the  day — that  will  keep  me 
strait  and  good  if  any  thing  will — and,  mother, 
who  knows  but  I  may  beat  the  drum  in  Rich 
mond,  before  you  see  me  again?  Hurrah!" 
and  George' s  eyes  shone  and  glistened,  in  the 
most  remarkable  and  contradictory  way. 

Just  then  the  Captain' s  little  brother,  San 
dy,  rushed  into  the  cottage — 

' i  George  !  mother  !  where  are  you  f '  he 
cried,  bounding  up  the  stair.  ' '  Oh,  such  a 
jolly  time  as  we've  had !  We've  been  sous 
ing  Nap.  Carter!" 


THE   DRUMMER-BOY.  77 

Mrs.  Benson  raised  her  hands  in  horror. 

"  Sandy,  child,  what  have  you  been  up  to, 
now?" 

"  Nothing  wrong,  mother,"  shouted  the  ex 
cited  youngster ;  ' '  you  see,  Nap.  is  all  for 
Jeff.  Day  is,  and  he  went  to  hurrahing  for  him, 
and  me  and  the  other  boys  just  showed  him 
a  thing  or  two,  that's  all." 

"  The  other  boys  and  7,  Sandy." 

"Yes,  'um;  the  other  boys  and  me  just 
walloped — I  mean,  we  most  drowned— 

"Gracious,  George!  what  does  the  child 
mean?"  cried  Mrs.  Benson,  in  dismay. 

The  story  was  told  at  last.  "  We  made  him 
hooray  for  the  Union,  I  tell  you,  we  did  !"  was 
the  final  exclamation  of  the  young  rioter. 

George  laughed. 

' '  I  am  glad  of  it, ' '  said  he  ;  "  they'  11  make 
old  Carter  put  out  the  flag  yet,  mother,  or 
else  leave  the  town,  you  may  depend  upon  it. 
He's  a  rascally  secessionist,  that's  what  he 
is.  But  Sandy,  do  you  want  to  hear  the 
news  ?  I'm  going  to  the  war-^-I'm  going  to  be 
a  drummer-boy  in  earnest !" 

"Yes — you — are!"  drawled  Sandy,  in 
credulously. 


78  IRVINGTON    STOEIES. 

"  I  tell  you  I  am.     Isn't  it  so,  mother?" 

Mrs.  Benson  nodded  her.  head,  sadly. 

Sandy  struck  an  attitude — 

"Whew!  then  I'm  going  too.  I'll  take  a 
sword  and  cut  off  the  rebels'  heads  as  fast  as 
they  come  along  !" 

"Nonsense,  you  foolish  child  !"  exclaimed 
the  mother,  smiling  through  her  tears. 

Captain  George  laughed,  and  declared  that 
Lucy  would  want  to  go  next. 

"  G-O  where?"  asked  a  bright  eyed  young 
girl,  who  entered  the  room  at  that  moment. 

"Why,  to  the  war.  Sandy,  here,  talks 
quite  seriously  of  going." 

Lucy  looked  grave  for  an  instant. 

"If  I  could  leave  mother,  I  would  rather 
work  in  the  hospitals  than  do  any  thing  else, 
George.  And  so  Master  Sandy  is  resolved 
upon  joining  the  ranks?"  she  added  with  a 
merry  laugh.  "  A  mighty  warrior,  indeed— 
seven  years  old.  Why,  the  rebels  would  only 
take  you  up  and  kiss  you,  pet,  just  as  we 
do!" 

This  was  too  much  for  Sandy' s  dignity  to 
endure.  He  flew  into  a  violent  passion, 
stamped  his  feet,  sobbed,  and  declared  that 


THE   DRUMMER-BOY.  79 

nothing  on  earth  should  hinder  him  from 
being  a  soldier.  If  George  was  going,  he 
would  go  too,  in  spite  of  everybody. 

"Sandy!"  said  Mrs.  Benson,  quietly,  "do 
you  wish  to  be  sent  to  bed  before  supper  1" 

"No,  ma'am,"  blubbered  Sandy. 

"Then  stop  crying,  and  behave  yourself." 

Thereupon  Sandy  rubbed  his  eyes  about 
twenty  times,  upon  his  jacket- sleeve,  and 
abandoned,  for  the  present,  all  hope  of  a  mili 
tary  career. 

That  evening  Lucy  and  George  had  a  long 
talk  together.  Lucy  was  a  noble-hearted  girl, 
and  had  the  Union  flag,  stars  and  all,  folded 
in  a  sunny  corner  of  her  nature,  ready  to  be 
unfurled  at  a  moment's  notice.  It  stood  a 
little  at  half-mast,  though,  when  she  put  her 
hand  upon  her  brother's  shoulder,  and  told 
him  that,  heart  and  soul,  she  was  willing  to 
let  him  go. 

"You  are  young,  dear,"  she  said,  trying 
not  to  cry,  "and  will  have  many  hardships  to 
endure,  but  you  are  the  only  one  we  have  to 
send." 

"That's  so  !"  answered  George,  proudly  ; 
"and  you  know,  Lucy,  I'll  have  a  furlough 


80  IKVINGTON   STOEIES. 

now  and  then.  Besides,  my  pay  will  be  some 
little  lielp  to  mother." 

"Yes,  indeed,"  sighed  Lucy,  who,  since 
her  father' s  death  had  taught  in  the  village 
school;  "it  almost  breaks  my  heart  to  see 
mother  bearing  her  troubles  so  patiently. 
Perhaps  my  salary  will  be  raised,  now  that  I 
am  eighteen  ;  and  that,  with  your  pay,  will 
enable  her  to  have  many  a  luxury  that  is  im 
possible  to  her  now.  You  will  often  write  to 
us,  George  ?' ' 

"  Oh,  of  course  I  will !  You  know  a  drum 
mer  always  has  his  desk  with  him,  nothing 
better  than  a  drum-head  to  write  on.  Offi 
cer  Stearns  says  he  will  have  me  fitted  out 
with  a  splendid  one.  You  must  write,  too, 
Lucy." 

"Indeed I  shall,  darling  ;  very  often.  And, 
Gfeorge,  Captain  Warner  will  be  a  good 
friend  to  you,  I  know.  I  hope  you  will  be 
under  his  influence  as  much  as  possible.  He 
promised  mother  this  evening  that  he  would 
take  an  active  interest  in  your  welfare.  It  is 
a  grand  thing  to  have  one' s  captain  on  one' s 
side,  you  know." 

"Certainly,"  answered  George,  with  rather 


THE   DKUMMER-BOY.  81 

a  patronizing  air,  ' '  I  understand  all  tliat. 
The  captain's  a  prime  fellow  too  !" 

The  next  day  saw  George  Benson  regu 
larly  enrolled  as  drummer-boy  in  the  — th 
Regiment  of  Connecticut  Volunteers.  Cap 
tain  Warner,  of  Company  A ,  belonged  to 

the  same  regiment.  But  few  men  were 
needed  to  make  their  number  complete. 

Whether  the  vigorous  music  of  George's 
drum  pealing  forth  from  the  entrance  of  the 
recruiting  office,  or  the  indefatigable  exer 
tions  of  Lieutenant  Stearns,  awakened  the 
desired  amount  of  military  zeal  or  not,  I 
cannot  say.  Certain  it  is,  that  in  less  than  a 
fortnight  from  the  day  of  Napoleon  Carter  s 
dismal  cheer  for  the  Union,  the  — th  Regi 
ment  assembled  with  Hying  colors  on  the 
village  green,  all  ready  to  start. 

Some  of  the  men  had  come  from  a  distance, 
and  had  been  encamped  in  the  neighborhood 
for  weeks.  Many  were  from  New  Haven, 
and  not  a  few  were  native-born,  and  had 
learned  their  A  B  C's  within  a  stone's  throw 
of  the  recruiting  office.  But  one  and  all 
were  surrounded  by  friends  on  that  occasion. 

Captain    George's  entire   company  turned 

f> 


82  IRVINGTON   STORIES. 

out  to  do  him  honor ;  and  his  heart  glowed 
with  honest  joy  and  pride  as  their  boyish 
cheers  rang  upon  the  air.  Napoleon  Carter 
was  there,  too.  He  watched  his  chance,  and 
when  no  one  was  looking,  stole  up  to 
George. 

"Good-by,  Capt'n,"  said  he,  holding  out 
his  hand;  "I'm  sorry  you're  going,  though 
we  haven't  been  over  fond  of  each  other. 
What's  the  need,  anyhow,  of  your  going 
down  there  to  be  peppered  at  ?" 

"THAT'S  the  need!"  answered  George,  all 
aglow,  as  he  pointed  to  a  great  Thing  waving 
above  him,  shaking  out  its  folds  of  red, 
white,  and  blue  against  the  summer  sky. 

"  Ahem !  Well,  it's  a  good  feelin'  to  have, 
maybe;  but  my  folks  don't  talk  that  way. 
Good-by,  Capt'n!" 

"  Good-by!" 

The  houses  were  deserted.  Men,  women, 
and  children  crowded  the  grassy  streets. 
Mrs.  Benson,  Lucy,  and  Little  Sandy  stood 
together  under  the  great  elm-tree  before 
their  door,  straining  their  eyes  for  one  more 
glimpse  of  George. 

Like  a  young  hero,  he  had  bidden  them  all 


THE  DEUMMER-BOY.  83 

farewell,  with  counterfeit  gladness  in  his  eye. 
Like  a  hero,  he  had  sobbed  upon  his  mother's 
bosom  when,  with  white  lips  and  tearless 
eyes,  she  had  given  him  her  blessing.  And 
like  a  hero,  he  was  marching  now  with  his 
regiment  up  the  village  street — head  erect, 
cheek  glowing,  heart  full  of  courage,  though 
nearer  his  throat,  it  seemed,  than  usual. 

"  There  he  is  !"  cried  Sandy.  "  My  !  look 
at  his  new  drum  !" 

"  God  bless  him  !"  was  all  the  mother  and 
daughter  could  say,  as,  with  brimming  eyes, 
they  saw  him  wave  his  hat  and  take  one  last 
look  at  the  dear  old  home. 

A  clear  "Good-by,  mother!  Good-by, 
Lucy  !  Good-by,  little  Sandy,"  rang  through 
the  din  of  voices — and  George  was  gone. 


III. 

NEW     DUTIES     AND     NEW     SCENES. 

OUR  drummer-boy's  first  letter  was  post 
marked  "Washington,"  and  gave  many 
details  of  his  camp  life. 


84  IRVINGTON   STOKIES. 

"We  shall  be   stationed    here  for  a  few 
weeks,"  lie  wrote,  "and  then,  onward!  the 
nearer  Richmond  the  better.     I  am  getting  on 
finely  with  my  drumming,  and  know  all  the 
beats.     There's  the  REVEILLE  for  calling  the 
soldiers  up  in  the  morning.     That  is  a  good 
long  one  and  lasts  nearly  ten  minutes.     All 
of  the  drummers  get  together  and  go  beating 
it  from  tent  to  tent.     Then  there' s  the  TATTOO 
for  the  last  roll-call  in  the   evening,  about 
nine  o'clock,  when  every  man  must  be  in 
camp    to    answer    to    his    name.      About    a 
quarter  of  an  hour  afterward,  we  have  the 
TAPS  (no  particular  tune)  for  the  men  to  go  to 
bed.     The  ROAST-BEEF    call  is   the  favorite 
beat.     It  calls  the  men  to  dinner,  and  they 
seem  to  like  the  music  of  it.     Then  there  is 
the  LONG  EOLL  for  giving  an  alarm  when  the 
camp  must  be  wakened  unexpectedly,  and 
THE  GENERAL  to  call  the  troops  out  to  march, 
and    THE    ASSEMBLY  to  muster  them  to  an 
ordinary  parade.     Then    the   beat,    TO    THE 
COLOR,  which  is  used  in  saluting  the  flag— 
and  THE  RECALL  and  THE  CHARGE,   and  more 
yet.     Nearly  all  of  these  are  separate  beats, 
or  tunes, — some  in  common  time,  some  quick, 


THE  DEUMMEE-BOY.  85 

some  double-quick, — and  there  are  fifteen  of 
them  in  all.  So  you  see  a  drummer-boy  has 
something  to  do.  Every  day  the  Drum- 
Major  (my,  how  dressed  up  he  is !)  takes  all 
of  us  drummers  a  short  distance  away  and 
drills  us.  The  buglers  have  to  be  drilled 
too.  The  Drum-Major  says  I  am  a  natural 
drummer,  that  he  shouldn't  wonder  if  I 
used  to  beat  the  tattoo  witli  my  feet  on  the 
cradle.  He' s  a  queer  man,  with  a  hat  as  big 
as  all  out  doors,  and  so  grand  when  he  walks, 
that  I  have  to  bite  my  lips  to  keep  from 
laughing. 

"  I  have  not  had  to  eat  raw  pork  yet !  like 
some  of  the  poor  fellows  in  the  war ;  but  I 
tell  you  I  miss  the  hominy  and  fresh  eggs, 
and  griddle-cakes,  that  we  have  at  home.  As 
for  cookies,  mother,  I  have  almost  forgotten 
how  they  look.  No— I'll  take  that  back.  I 
don't  forget  a  single  thing  connected  with 
home,  and  I  never  will.  This  first  letter 
is  written  to  both  you  and  Lucy.  I  prom 
ised  Sandy  he  should  have  all  the  stamps 
off  my  letters,  but  what  he  wants  them 
for  I  cannot  imagine.  Perhaps  he  thought 
they  would  be  rebel  stamps.  Those  army 


86  IEVINGTON   STORIES. 

shoes  proved  too  stiff  and  heavy.  My 
feet  were  sore  enough  before  I  reached 
here ;  but  Captain  Warner  secured  me  a 
better  fitting  pair  when  we  reached  Washing 
ton.  The  Captain  is  a  splendid  fellow,  and 
talks  to  me  as  if  I  were  twenty  years  old, 
instead  of  fourteen.  (I  shall  be  fifteen  in 
nine  days.)  He  had  his  photograph  taken  in 
camp  last  week,  and,  do  you  know,  I  think 
he  sent  it  to  you,  Miss  Lucy,  You  can' t  keep 
such  things  a  secret  from  me  very  long.  He 
made  me  stand  for  mine  too.  I  send  it  in 
this  letter,  but  it  is  not  very  good.  The 
right  eye  is  too  small,  and  my  drum  looks 
perfectly  enormous  ;  the  Captain  says,  that  is 
because  I  held  it  in  front  of  me  and  brought 
it  out  of  fokus.  That's  a  new  word  for  me, 
and  if  I  have  not  spelt  it  rightly,  you  must 
excuse  it.  Give  Sandy  a  good  shaking  for 
me,  all  for  love,  and  tell  him,  I  am  one  of  the 
smallest  boys  in  camp.  That  will  make  him 
open  his  eyes  ;  for  I  believe  he  thinks  I  am  a 
kind  of  giant.  This  is  the  longest  letter  I 
ever  wrote  in  my  life.  I  have  had  it  on  hand 
three  days.  [Hallo  !  Miss  Lucy,  I  saw  a 
suspicious  looking  envelope  in  the  Captain's 


THE  DRUMMER-BOY.  87 

hand  tliis  morning.  It's  a  pity  you  cannot 
disguise  your  handwriting.]  There  are  some 
things,  mother  that  we  were  talking  about ; 
you  know  what  I  mean  ;  I  shall  not  forget 
them,  I  promise  you.  As  this  is  to  three  of 
you,  I  am 

('  Your  affectionate  son, 
"  Little  brother, 

"And  big  brother, 

"  GEORGE." 

The  next  letter  was  from  Fredericksburg, 
and  was  written  in  good  spirits,  though  Mrs. 
Benson  and  Lucy  could  see  that  he  had 
passed  through  more  trials  than  he  cared  to 
describe.  Then  there  was  a  silence  of  three 
weeks  ;  and,  at  last,  a  short  note  written  in 
a  trembling  hand,  told  them  that  he  had 
been  on  the  sick  list ;  but  would  be  on  his 
feet  again,  very  soon. 

From  this  point,  George's  military  life 
commenced  in  earnest.  General  Pope  took 
charge  of  all  the  forces  around  Washington. 
The  bulk  of  his  army  was  concentrated  on 
the  Eapidan  River,  a  branch  of  the  Rappa- 
hannock,  to  resist  the  advance  of  the  rebels 


88  IRVINGTON   STOEIES. 

towards  Washington  ;  after  a  while  he  was 
forced  to  fall  back  fighting  a  series  of  battles, 
the  last  of  which  was  near  the  scene  of  the 
Battle  of  Bull  Run. 

By  this  time  George  felt  himself  to  be  quite 
a  veteran.  He  had  tested  his  lithe  little  body, 
and  had  endured  hardships  from  which  many 
a  strong  man  would  have  shrunk.  He  had 
suffered  from  hunger  and  thirst ;  had  tramped 
for  hours  over  rough  roads,  with  feet  blistered 
and  bleeding.  Once  he  marched  for  four  days 
and  nights,  taking  only  six  hours  rest  alto 
gether,  and  eating  but  three  meals  in  all  that 
time.  They  were  not  such  meals  as  you  eat,  my 
dear,  beef-devouring,  pie- demolishing  young 
reader,  but  simply  consisted  of  one  square,  dry 
cracker  (called  "hard-tack"  by  the  soldiers) 
and  a  kettle  of  wretched  coffee,  or,  perhaps, 
muddy  water. 

To  city  displays  and  story-books,  he  soon 
discovered,  belonged  the  glittering  show  he 
had  expected  to  see — the  great,  regular  masses 
of  men,  line  after  line,  marching  close,  with 
colors  flying,  music  sounding,  and  grand  dis 
plays  of  cavalry  and  dazzling  cannon,  adding 
their  charm  to  the  scene.  A  real  army,  on  a 


THE  DRUMMER-BOY.  89 

real  march,  proved  to  Ibe  quite  a  different 
affair — grand,  indeed,  Ibut  not  in  the  way  that 
he  had  supposed. 

They  were  not  picture-soldiers,  those  jaded, 
weary  men,  dust- soiled  and  nearly  dust- 
choked — though  they  marched  on  sturdily 
enough.  They  were  not  picture-banners — 
those  war- stained,  tattered  flags  —  doubly 
sacred  now  that  some  of  the  best  blood  of 
the  nation  had  been  shed  in  their  defence. 
And  those  were  not  picture-horses  that,  tread 
ing  fetlock-deep  in  the  dust,  dragged  gun- 
carriage,  ambulance,  and  wagon  slowly  on 
their  toilsome  way. 

The  men,  artillery,  and  stores  moved  on 
ward  in  separate  bodies,  sometimes  by  dif 
ferent  roads,  and  sometimes  in  more  compact 
form.  Every  thing  under  discipline  and  care 
ful  regulation,  yet,  to  a  looker-on,  seeming  to 
be  in  confusion  and  careless  disorder,  the 
army  covered  a  vast  tract  of  country  as  it 
journeyed  on. 

If  George  could  have  viewed  it  passing  by 
in  one  continuous  line  of  wagons,  artillery, 
ambulances,  and  troops,  he  would  have  seen 
a  column  of  nearly  eighty  miles  in  length. 


90  IRVINGTON   STORIES. 

The  wagon  trains  alone  would  have  made  a 
chain  of  about  twenty-six  miles  long. 

Imposing  as  this  spectacle  would  have  been, 
he  had  witnessed  far  grander  sights.  He  had 
seen  the  deadly  cannon  drawn  up  to  do  their 
work.  He  had  seen  how  men  can  fight  who 
fight  for  a  noble  cause.  He  had  seen  whole 
regiments  rushing  as  one  man  upon  the 
enemy,  and  amid  the  smoke  and  din  of  mus 
ketry,  the  roar  of  cannon,  the  rolling  of 
drums  (his  own  as  noisy  as  any),  he  had  seen 
our  flag  waving  proudly  amid  the  thickest  of 
the  fight. 

If  the  pomp  of  war  had  grown  familiar  to 
him,  he  was  no  stranger  to  its  misery.  He 
had  looked  upon  terrible  battle-fields,  where 
the  dead  and  dying  lay  thickly  together  under 
the  mid-day  sun.  He  had  felt  the  sting  of 
defeat,  too, — and  that  was  harder  to  bear  than 
all. 

All  his  former  ideas  of  warfare  *  were  soon 
proved  to  be  very  fanciful.  He  had  heard  of 
men  being  drawn  up  in  ' '  line  of  battle' '  be 
fore  a  fight,  and  supposed  that  the  "line  of 
battle"  meant  a  wide  front  of  soldiers  stand 
ing  in  bodies  of  many  men  deep,  as  in  parade. 


THE  DRUMMER-BOY.  91 

Instead  of  that,  the  modern  "line  of  battle" 
is  only  two  ranks  deep,  merely  a  double  line 
of  men. 

In  ancient  times,  whole  regiments  and  bat 
talions  attacked  each  other  in  solid  masses. 
After  the  adoption  of  gunpowder,  the  mode 
was  gradually  altered,  until  at  last  the  double 
line  was  established  by  Napoleon  at  the 
battle  of  Leipsic,  in  1813.  On  that  occasion, 
the  wily  Emperor,  finding  that  his  enemy's 
forces  were  stronger  than  his  own,  determined 
to  deceive  them  as  to  his  numbers  by  show 
ing  nearly  all  his  army  to  them  at  once. 

"Form  them  in  double  line!"  said  he  to 
one  of  his  officers.  "  Show  a  broad  front  to 
the  enemy." 

Since  that  day  the  double  line  has  been  uni 
versally  adopted.  It  is  the  usual  mode  of 
combat  in  our  present  war  ;  though  in  great 
emergencies,  and  where  a  heavy  sacrifice  of 
life  is  unavoidable,  troops  are  sometimes  led 
to  the  attack  "  in  column,"  as  it  is  called. 

If  you  wish  to  fully  appreciate  the  advan 
tage  of  fighting  in  double  line,  instead  of  em 
ploying  a  great  solid  square  of  men,  just 
imagine  yourself  in  the  front  rank  of  a  battle, 


92  IRVINGTON   STORIES. 

with,  a  long  string  of  nervous  fellows  close 
behind,  you,  pointing  their  guns  at  the  enemy. 
Wouldn't  you  devoutly  hope  they  would 
i  i  excuse  your  "back, ' '  or,  at  least,  wouldn'  t 
you  gladly  echo  Napoleon' s  order  ? 

George  learned,  too,  that  regiments  rarely 
engage  in  a  hand-to-hand  fight,  such  as  we 
see  in  pictures  ;  and  that  to  shot  and  shell  is 
consigned  the  main  work  of  destruction.  In 
actual  battle,  soldiers  seldom  cross  bayonets 
with  each  other  ;  and  in  a  bayonet  charge  one 
side  or  the  other  almost  invariably  gives  way 
before  the  opposing  party  reaches  them.  All 
the  strength  and  bravery  a  soldier  can  sum 
mon  will,  in  such  attacks,  hardly  enable  him 
to  stand  still  against  an  approaching  bayonet. 
If  it  touch  him,  he  will  most  assuredly  be  run 
through.  Therefore,  he  generally  becomes 
the  assailant  himself,  or  seeks  safety  in  flight. 
Once,  in  a  battle  between  the  French  and 
English,  the  two  armies  actually  crossed  bay 
onets  ;  and  in  the  Crimean  war  it  is  said  that 
a  Russian  force  stood  still  while  charged  upon 
by  an  English  regiment. 

Generally,  in  our  own  experience,  the  rebels 
have  fled  before  our  bayonets  ;  but  in  a  few 


THE  DRUMMER-BOY.  93 

instances,  as  in  the  battle  of  Williamsburg, 
both  sides  have  had  the  satisfaction  of  a  hand- 
to-hand  encounter. 


IV. 
HIRAM  J-     AND  OTHER  FRIENDS. 

r\  EORGE'S  "  patent  desk"  did  good  service 
vJ  among  the  soldiers.  They  knew  him  as 
the  bright,  good-natured  boy  who  would  often 
write  a  "  bit  of  a  letter"  for  them,  and  then 
drown  their  thanks  with  some  wonderful 
"  beat"  that  none  could  imitate. 

One  day  George  saw  a  glum-looking  drum 
mer-boy  sitting  apart  from  his  comrades,  and 
busily  working  over  a  soiled  sheet  of  paper. 
He  did  not  appear  to  be  writing,  nor  yet 
drawing  plans  of  fortifications — though  his 
movements  were  very  labored  and  deliberate, 
and  he  dipped  his  pen  in  a  little  stone  ink- 
bottle  at  almost  every  stroke  he  made.  One 
thing  was  evident :  the  boy  seemed  very 
much  troubled  ;  and,  at  last,  our  little  "  Cap- 


94  IRVINGTON   STORIES. 

tain"  saw  a  tear  trickling  down  the  weather- 
beaten  young  face. 

Water,  in  that  shape,  always  acted  as  a 
strong  magnet  to  George. 

"  Can  I  help  you,  friend?"  said  he,  ap 
proaching  him. 

The  boy  pouted  for  a  while,  without  look 
ing  up.  Suddenly  he  raised  his  head,  and 
thrust  the  paper  at  his  companion. 

"  Can  you  make  that  out  f  he  asked,  rather 
sullenly. 

After  looking  at  it  a  few  moments  in  silence, 
George  replied— 

"  Not  very  well." 

i  i  Can  you  make  out  any  of  it  V '  persisted 
the  boy,  anxiously, — "look  sharp  now." 

The  "  Captain"  obeyed  orders,  asking, 
innocently, 

i  i  Did  you  intend  it  to  be  a  letter  to  amy- 
body?" 

"  Of  course  I  did  !"  was  the  indignant  re 
ply.  < (  You  ain'  t  half  looked  yet. ' ' 

George  turned  the  paper  upside  down,  but 
it  did  not  help  the  matter.  Then  he  looked 
inquiringly  at  Jessup  ;  but  that  young  gentle 
man  only  thrust  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  and 


THE  DEUMMEE-BOY. 


95 


glowered  at  the  letter,  without  vouchsafing 
any  remark. 

His  companion  peered  into  the  document 
again. 

It  is  in  existence  yet,  and  here  is  an  exact 
copy,  blots  and  all. 


> 


Ub  IKVINGTON   STORIES. 

Do  you  wonder  that  the  "Captain"  was 
puzzled  ? 

He  solyed  the  riddle  at  last,  however, 
though  not  until  another  half  angry  tear  had 
rolled  down  his  companion's  cheek. 

"  I  have  it !"  he  cried. 

"  You  7iaint,  though  !"  exclaimed  the  other 
joyfully. 

' '  Yes.     It' s  plain  enough  now.     I  will  read 

it  to  you. 

« <  CAMP  — -. 

"  '  DEAR  MOTHER  :  I  am  very  well.  I  am  a 
drummer.  I  want  to  see  you.' ' 

"  Glory  !  You  have  got  it,  certain.  But 
blame  it,  I've  been  an  hour  doin'  that,  and 
mother,  maybe,  can't  make  out  a  word  after 
all.  Struthers'll  be  singin'  out  for  his  ink- 
bottle  in  a  minute,  too."  And  the  boy  sank 
disconsolately  upon  a  stone,  rubbing  his  eyes 
and  nose  with  his  jacket- sleeve. 

"Can't  help  it,"  he  sobbed;  "I  always 
hated  schoolin'  worse  'n  thunder  !" 

George  leaned  over  him,  saying,  cheerily, 

"Let  me  give  you  a  lift,  comrade  ;  there's 
some  time  to  spare  before  roll-call.  I'll  write 
your  letter  for  you." 


THE   DRUMMER-BOY.  97 

The  wet  eyes  stared  at  him  in  astonishment. 

"You  won't,  though — will  you?" 

"  Yes,  I  will.  I  have  a  good  piece  of  paper 
here.  What  is  your  name  ?  I'm  George  Ben 
son,  of  the  — th  Connecticut." 

"  Yes,  I  know  you  be.  I'm  Hiram  Jes- 
sup." 

"Jessup!"  echoed  George.  "I  know  a 
man  of  that  name." 

"You  don't  though?  But  I'm  mustered 
under  another  name — I  run  away.  Dad  didn'  t 
want  me  to  come.  While  he  was  totin'  round 
the  country  with  an  old  bear  named  Stearns, 
gettin'  other  soldiers,  I  just  up  and  cleared. 
It  warn't  no  more'n  fair  anyhow." 

"  Isn't  that  odd  I  The  very  Jessup  I've  met 
is  your  father  !  He  was  with  Stearns  in  our 
place  for  a  month  or  so  before  I-  came  away." 

"'Sakes!  That  is  queer.  He  didn't  say 
any  thing  about  me  —  did  he  ?  I  mean  he 
didn't  say  any  thing  about  having  a  son  or 
nothin'  \  Oh,  of  course  he  didn't,"  said  Hi- 
rani,  eagerly,  with  rather  a  sheepish  expres 
sion. 

"Yes,  he  did." 

"  No  !  Well,  '  twan'  t  much  good  about  him, 
7 


98  IKVINGTO^   STORIES. 


I  guess,"  pursued  the  boy,  striving  to  con 
ceal  his  curiosity. 

"It  wasn't  very  flattering,  if  you  wish  to 
know  the  truth.  He  said  he  wished  Tils  boy 
was  more  like  —  like  —  well,  like  somebody 
who  is  not  many  miles  from  you  at  this  in 
stant." 

"  Humph!"  said  Hiram,  flushing.  "That 
was  always  his  way  —  always  totin'  up  other 
boys  for  me  to  pattern  by  !" 

"He  said,  too,  that  you  had  'good  stuff  in 
you,  if  it  could  only  be  worked  up  right.' 
Those  were  his  very  words." 

'  '"  JSTo  !  Did  he  ?  I  didn'  t  know  he  thought 
there  was  the  first  decent  thing  about  me. 
I  wish  I'd  bid  him  i  good-by,'  anyhow. 
'Twarn't  right  to  run  off  as  I  did  —  I  know  it 
warn't  ;"  and  Hiram,  with  something  like  a 
sigh,  poked  harder  than  ever  at  a  stone  which, 
for  the  past  few  moments,  he  had  been  trying 
to  pry  out  of  the  ground  with  the  toe  of  his 
shoe. 

"Mother,  kind  o'  conies  to  my  mind,"  he 
continued,  "  at  night,  or  when  I'm  tired  ;  and 
that's  why  I  thought  I'd  get  some  kind  of  -a 
letter  to  her." 


THE   DRUMMER-BOY.  99 

(George  sat  down  by  his  drum,  arranged  a 
crumpled  sheet  of  paper,  and  held  out  his 
hand  for  the  pen.) 

' i  I  am' t  never  been  much  good  to  her, 
neither,"  added  Hiram,  handing  it  to  him. 
"  You  might  just  put  in  that  I'm  sorry  for  it 
now  ;  and  if  you  could  just  put  in  a  message 
to  father  about  my  being  willing  to  try  and 
work  up  '  that  stuff '  he  talked  to  you  about, 
I'd  like  it." 

"  That  I  will,  Jessup,  with  all  my  heart !" 

The  letter  was  soon  written.  After  that 
day,  the  boys  always  exchanged  a  pleasant 
word  when  they  met ;  and  Hiram  Jessup' s 
parents  often  bent  thankfully  over  a  letter 
from  their  runaway  boy — for  the  father' s  time 
of  service  was  up,  and  he  was  now  living  at 
home. 

"  You  have  no  idea,  Lucy,"  wrote  George 
a  few  weeks  afterward,  "how  the  boy  im 
proves.  He  is  not  one  of  the  hardened  kind. 
I've  taught  him  to  write  very  well  in  the  sand 
with  his  drum-stick,  and  if  paper  wasn't  so 
scarce,  he  could  begin  to  practise  penmanship 
in  earnest.  That  boy  will  make  a  good  man 
yet,  if  he  lives.  Though,  if  your  idea  is  true 


100  IKVINGTON   STOKIES. 

that  every  man  has  a  good  and  a  bad  angel 
beside  him,  I  should  say  that  his  bad  angel 
has  had  rather  the  best  of  it,  so  far  ;  but  the 
good  angel  is  getting  the  upper  hand  now,  if 
I  am  not  mistaken.  You  need  not  make  any 
more  of  those  Havelocks  ;*  for  the  soldiers 
here  don't  wear  them  when  they  get  them. 
They're  used  generally  to  'wipe  up'  with 
round  the  camp. 

4 '  I  left  my  Arithmetic  book  in  school ;  you 
had  better  get  it,  and  put  it  away,  for  it  will 
do  for  Sandy  one  of  these  days.  Captain 
Warner  (!!!)  gave  me  a  chunk  of  boiled 
tongue  yesterday  afternoon.  I  never  tasted 
any  thing  more  delicious.  If  I  ever  get  to  be 
an  officer,  I  mean  to  have  jolly  times,  too. 
We  privates  think  the  officers  have  every 
thing,  but  they  deny  it.  Just  think  ! — I  often 
make  my  own  coffee,  and  cook  my  own  meat. 
They're  flavored  with  essence  of  smoke,  I  can 
tell  you.  We  just  stick  a  piece  of  meat  on 
the  end  of  a  bayonet,  or  a  stick,  or  any  thing 
we  can  get,  and  hold  it  over  the  fire.  Some 

*  A  muslin  or  linen  head-gear  sometimes  worn  by  soldiers  to 
protect  their  throats  and  shoulders  from  the  sun ;  so  called  after 
General  Havelock,  an  English  general,  who  served  in  India. 


THE   DKUMMER-BOY  101 

of  the  men,  on  a  march,  are  foolish  about  their 
rations.  Every  man  has  three  or  five  days' 
rations  in  his  haversack,  and  sometimes  they 
eat  nearly  all  they  have  on  the  first  two  days, 
and  have  to  go  hungry  the  rest  of  the  time. 
Those  kind  of  men  think  they  must  eat  every 
time  they  halt.  The  dust  is  terrible  here  in 
Virginia.  You  ought  to  see  the  men  on  a 
march  ;  their  hair  and  eyebrows  are  com 
pletely  loaded  with  dust,  and  their  faces  and 
necks  have  a  very  respectable  coating  of  it. 
If  it  were  not  for  our  canteens,  we  would  be 
choked  to  death,  for  an  army  marching  raises 
such  clouds  that  you  can  hardly  see  ten  feet 
ahead  of  you.  My  canteen  holds  about  two 
quarts.  I  think  nothing  of  sleeping  out-doors 
all  night  now.  When  we  are  not  under 
shelter,  we  are  always  made  to  get  evergreen 
boughs,  if  we  can,  to  sleep  on,  instead  of  the 
other  kind.  The  doctors  say  it  is  a  great  deal 
healthier. 

"Our  soldiers  sometimes  have  great  fun 
catching  rabbits.  The  woods  are  full  of  them  ; 
and  whenever  the  boys  start  up  one,  they  all 
rush  after  it,  yelling  and  screaming.  Of 
course  they  have  no  dogs  to  join  the  hunt, 


102  IRVINGTON   STORIES. 

and  they  are  not  allowed  to  fire  their  muskets 
at  them ;  "but  they  generally  kill  them  with 
stones.  This  may  seem  very  cruel  to  you — 
and  I  suppose  it  is  so — but  a  soldier's  time 
often  hangs  heavy  on  his  hands.  I  would  not 
like  to  trust  }^our  wonderful  white  kitten 
before  the  troops,  even  five  minutes  before  a 
battle.  They  would  certainly  make  a  rush  at 
it — every  man  of  them. 

"  Yesterday,  just  as  we  were  coming  off 
parade,  a  fox  ran  across  the  ground,  in  front 
of  the  camp.  Some  men,  who  were  not  on 
duty,  scampered  after  him,  helter-skelter,  and 
the  rest,  seeing  the  fun,  pitched  down  their 
guns  and  cartridge-boxes,  and  joined  in  the 
purs  ait.  Such  yells  and  shouts  you  never 
heard  !  He  doubled  in  all  directions,  and  the 
chase  was  kept  up  half  an  hour.  It  was  very 
exciting.  Finally,  Mr.  Fox  happened  to  run 
right  in  front  of  me,  when  I  was  resting  for  a 
moment,  and  I  knocked  him  over  with  a  billet 
of  wood,  and  now  I  carry  his  tail  on  my 
drum. 

"This  is  another  three  days'  letter.  I  am 
very  glad  that  my  pay  was  so  welcome  to 
mother.  It  is  too  bad  that  she  has  to  pay 


THE   DRUMMER-BOY.  103 

money  on  her  cottage  so  often,  when  she  owns 
it  herself.  In  your  next  letter,  please  tell  me 
what  a  mortgage  is — I  don't  exactly  under 
stand  it.  Please  don't  read  this  part  of  my 
letter  to  Cousin  Stephen,  or  any  of  the  boys. 
~No  use  in  letting  them  know  all  our  business 
affairs." 

George  might  have  said  :  "  No  use  in  letting 
them  know  that  I  ask  what  a  mortgage  is;" 
for  that  w^as  what  he  felt.  In  truth,  the 
' '  Captain' '  was  a  little  proud  ;  but  he  had  so 
many  good  qualities  that  we  can  well  afford 
to  overlook  this  one  failing. 

George  had  other  friends,  and  those  far 
more  to  his  taste,  than  young  Jessup.  Some 
of  the  other  drummers  were  fine  fellows,  and 
could  well  appreciate  the  manly,  generous 
qualities  of  their  young  comrade.  Among  the 
buglers,  too,  he  soon  had  staunch  friends,  and 
he  quite  delighted  them  by  saying,  one  even 
ing,  after  an  engagement  with  the  enemy, 

"You  buglers  ought  to  have  more  credit 
than  any  men  in  the  army,  for  your  work  is 
the  hardest.  How  you,  Smith,  could  stand 
there  to-day,  tooting  away,  while  horses  were 
plunging,  and  shot  whizzing  and  screaming 


104  IRVINGTON   STORIES. 

around  you,  I  can't  see.  It  was  a  kind 
of  relief  for  me  to  drum,  especially  when  I 
saw  poor  Clarence  and  the  Sergeant  topple 
over,  and  when  Henderson's  leg  was  shat 
tered.  But  I  was  short  of  breath  as  a  puffer, 
and  couldn't  have  blown  a  note  to  save  the 
Union." 

"Ha!  ha!"  they  laughed.  "Smith  had 
no  business  there,  anyhow." 

Smith  seemed  to  think  differently.  He  was 
a  brave  fellow.  I  wish  I  could  give  his  real 
name,  and  tell  you  some  of  his  noble  deeds. 
There  is  one  man  in  the  army  who  could  shake 
him  by  the  hand,  and  that  is  the  gallant 
Frenchman  who  was  in  Zangonyi's  Regiment 
during  the  famous  hundred  days  in  Missouri. 
He  was  one  of  the  buglers  ;  and  just  before  a 
dashing  charge  upon  the  rebels,  Zangonyi 
ordered  him  to  sound  a  signal.  The  French 
man,  instead  of  obeying,  darted  off  with  one 
of  the  lieutenants.  A  few  moments  after 
ward  he  was  seen  among  the  cavalry,  rushing 
upon  the  rebels — his  sabre  flashing  wherever 
the  fight  was  thickest. 

After  the  battle,  the  men  were  drawn  into 
line,  and  Zangonyi  noticed  his  disobedient 


THE   DRUMMER-BOY.  105 

bugler  standing  by  quite  unconcernedly,  with 
his  bugle  slung  over  his  shoulder.  Approach 
ing  him,  the  Major  said, 

' '  In  the  midst  of  the  battle  you  disobeyed 
my  order.  You  are  unworthy  to  be  a  mem 
ber  of  the  guard.  I  dismiss  you  !" 

The  Frenchman  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and 
held  out  his  bugle — the  mouth-piece  of  the 
instrument  was  shot  away. 

"  You  see  zat !"  he  exclaimed  earnestly. 
' i  Him  mouth  vas  shoot  off.  I  could  not  bugle 
viz  my  bugle,  and  so  I  bugle  viz  my  pistol 
and  sabre." 

Zangonyi  accepted  the  explanation,  and 
quietly  made  up  his  mind  that  the  Frenchman 
was  worthy  to  be  a  member  of  the  guard. 


V. 

GUERRILLAS. 

AT  the  close  of  the   second  battle  of  Bull 
Run,  George' s  regiment  lay  in  the  woods 
all  night.     Worn  out  with  fatigue  and  excite 
ment,  he  had  crawled  beneath  some  bushes, 


106  1RVINGTON   STOEIES. 

and  fallen  into  a  heavy  sleep.  When  he 
awoke  in  the  morning,  he  discovered,  to  his 
consternation,  that  he  was  alone.  His  regi 
ment  had  been  drawn  off  before  daylight,  and 
in  the  hurry  of  departure,  he  had  been  quite 
forgotten.  Only  an  instant,  however,  did  our 
plucky  little  Captain  stop  to  look  at  the  un 
pleasantness  of  his  position.  Seizing  his 
drum,  he  started  manfully  on,  trusting  that  he 
would  be  able  to  find  his  comrades  at  some 
point  not  far  distant. 

Suddenly  his  attention  was  caught  by  the 
sound  of  an  approaching  horse.  The  attitude 
of  the  rider  was  suspicious — he  almost  lay 
upon  his  animal's  back — and  George  could 
not  distinguish  what  uniform  he  wore.  Was 
it  friend  or  foe  ?  Kebel  guerrillas  were  lurk 
ing  about,  and  in  all  probability  this  was  one 
of  them.  While  still  at  some  distance,  the 
horse  stopped  irresolutely.  The  mysterious 
rider  clutched  helplessly  at  the  animal' s  mane, 
then,  with  a  groan,  fell  heavily  to  the  ground. 
His  form  was  hidden  by  the  underbrush,  but 
our  brave  drummer-boy  had  heard  enough. 
Whether  the  uniform  were  Union  or  Rebel,  a 
wounded  man  was  in  it,  lying  helpless  in  the 


THE   DRUMMER-BOY.  107 

forest.  George  hurried  toward  the  spot.  He 
could  see  the  hand  raise  a  pistol  as  he  ap 
proached. 

"  Don't  fire  !"  he  cried.  "  I  am  coming  to 
help  you  !" 

The  pistol  was  lowered. 

"Good  gracious!  Captain  Warner,  is  it 
you  I  You  are  wounded  ! — you  are  dy 
ing  l» 

"  Water,  lad  !     Give  me  water  !" 

George  shook  his  canteen.  It  was  not  quite 
empty.  In  a  moment  the  white  lips  had 
drained  the  last  drop. 

Oh!  Captain,  what  has  happened?  Don't 
you  know  me  V ' 

The  Captain  smiled  faintly,  and  held  out 
his  hand. 

"  Yes !"  he  gasped.  "Captain  George. 
Bend  closer,  lad.  I  am  bearer  of  dispatches 
to  General  Pope.  About  a  mile  from  here  I 
stopped,  as  you  would  have  done,  to  help  a 
wounded  rebel.  He  was  screaming  for  water. 
I  gave  him  my  canteen.  He  drained  it,  and 
—the  wretch  drew  his  pistol  and  fired.  I 
had  strength  to  kill  him  ;  but  it' s  all  over 
with  me  now.  Listen  !  You  must  take  — " 


108  IRVINGTON   STORIES. 

"  Oh  !  Captain,  let  me  run  for  more  water. 
You  can  scarcely  speak." 

"No,  lad — there  is  no  time  to  lose.  Is  my 
horse  there  ?" 

"Yes,  Sir." 

' i  You  must  take  him — here,  this  pistol,  too. 
There' s  a  knife  in  my  belt — you  may  need  it. 
Now,  George — these  papers  must  be  delivered 
to  the  General,  at  all  cost.  Hide  them  under 
your  jacket — is  it  done  2" 

"Yes,  Captain." 

"There! — keep  on  to  the  right — you  will 
strike  the  main  road.  Then  on,  for  your  life — 
by  the  cedars — past  a  ravine — across  burnt 
corn-fields  ;  then  take  the  road  again,  and  on, 
until  you  see  the  pickets.  Keep  close  along 
the  road,  my  boy— look  sharp  !  Here,  take 
off  my  spurs,  and  put  them  on.  There's  a 
screw  at  the  side — gently !  Can  you  fix 
them?" 

"Yes— but,  Captain,  I  can't  leave  you  in 
this  way— not 'until  I  stop  that  bleeding!" 
And  George  hastily  cutting  and  tearing  off 
part  of  his  jacket,  tried  to  staunch  the  blood 
flowing  from  the  wound. 

"  No  !    no !     Go  !     It  is  too  late  !    If  you 


THE  DRUMMER-BOY.  109 

love  me,  go  at  once  ;  and,  George,  tell  your 
sister — tell  Lucy  that  I—  He  fell  "back  with 
closed  eyes. 

"  Captain,  Captain,  speak  to  me  !"  screamed 
George.  In  vain  the  poor  boy,  kneeling  be 
side  his  friend,  called  his  name  again  and 
again.  In  vain  he  loosened  the  blood-stained 
garments,  and  blew  frantically  between  those 
white,  parted  lips — the  Captain  could  answer 
him  no  more ! 

With  a  conflict  of  feeling  raging  within  him, 
he  hastened  to  where  the  horse  stood  quietly 
grazing.  It  was  a  noble,  spirited  animal,  but 
made  no  resistance  when  George  sprang  into 
the  saddle. 

One  look  upon  that  dear,  motionless  form  ; 
one  hasty,  backward  glance  at  the  drum  that 
somehow  had  become  as  a  part  of  himself, 
though  he  felt  that  he  must  leave  it  now,  and 
he  started  on  his  perilous  errand. 

The  main  road  was  reached  at  last — the 
cedars  were  past — the  shadows  of  the  ravine 
were  about  him,  when,  at  a  sudden  turn,  he 
found  himself  surrounded  by  a  party  of  horse 
men.  Dirty,  ferocious-looking,  attired  in  tat 
tered  rebel  uniforms,  and  fully  armed,  they 


110  IRVINGTON   STORIES. 

were  not  a  pleasant  company  for  a  small  boy 
to  encounter  unexpectedly. 

"  Hello  !  youngster,  whar  yer  bound  ter  ?" 
shouted  the  foremost  man. 

"  That's  my  own  business,"  was  Captain 
George's  prompt  reply,  as  he  jerked  the  reins, 
and  tried  to  dash  past  them. 

Two  horsemen  were  at  his  bridle  in  an  in 
stant. 

uLet  go,  there  !"  cried  George,  seizing  his 
revolver. 

"  Oh  !  murder  !"  shouted  one  of  the  men  in 
mock  terror,  as  he  cocked  a  clumsy -looking 
pistol.  "Doan't  pint  that  thing  this  way- 
please,  doan't !" 

The  speaker  fell  from  his  horse  in  a  twink 
ling — George' s  bullet  had  pierced  his  shoulder. 

This  rash  act  doomed  our  little  Captain, 
even  if  his  fate  were  not  already  settled.  He 
soon  sat  weaponless  upon  his  horse,  with  a 
savage  rider  close  on  either  side.  All  the 
others  pressed  closely  about  him  as  they  rode 
along. 

"They're  guerrillas,  sure  enough!"  said 
George,  under  his  breath.  "Now  use  your 
mother- wit,  my  boy  !" 


THE   DRUMMER-BOY.  Ill 

His  captors,  with,  the  exception  of  the 
wounded  man,  were  in  quite  a  condescending 
mood.  The  latter,  after  being  lifted  upon  his 
horse  again,  sat  with  drooping  head  and  scowl 
ing  eye,  muttering  threats  of  vengeance.  His 
companions,  however,  did  not  pay  much 
attention  to  him,  but  began,  in  a  mocking 
tone,  to  question  their  prisoner. 

' '  Whar  were  yer  goin' ,  little  Yank  ?' ' 

"I  was  going  a-riding,"  was  the  saucy 
answer. 

"  Ha  !  ha  !  Prime  stuff— ain't  he  ?  And 
whar  did  yer  come  from  V ' 

"  Where  did  I  come  from  !"  echoed  George, 
looking  confidentially  around  him.  "Why, 
from  no  good  place,  if  you  want  to  know. 
There's  not  one  man  or  boy  belonging  to  me 
among  the  Yankee  troops,  and  they  use  me 
like  a  horse."  ("So  they  do,"  he  added  in 
ternally,  to  quiet  his  conscience  ;  ' '  they  feed 
me,  and  make  me  obey  orders.") 

The  guerrillas  looked  at  one  another. 

"Pshaw  !"  muttered  a  deep  voice.  "  He's 
tryin'  ter  guy  is." 

' '  Look  here,  youngster, ' '  shouted  another 
voice,  fiercely,  "ef  yer  try  ter  come  any 


112  IRVINGTON   STORIES. 

game  oyer  us,  we'll  let  daylight  thru  yer 
scull — do  you  understand  thet  V ' 

"  Fetch  him  up,"  put  in  a  sharp-looking 
fellow,  in  an  under  tone.  "Make  him  cheer 
fur  Jeff.  Davis.  Thet' 11  bring  out  the  Yank— 
clar  es  day,  ef  he's  hoaxin'." 

"  Hooray  for  Jeff.  Davis,  young  un,  ef  yer 
on  our  side,  and  no  flumuxin'  !"  commanded 
the  second  speaker. 

"  Come  on  !"  shouted  the  grim  chorus,  with 
oaths  and  mocking  laughter.  ' '  Three  cheers 
for  Jeff.  Davis— hip!" 

George' s  heart  beat  heavily  against  the  dis 
patch,  and  Captain  Warner's  words  rang  in 
his  ears — "  These  papers  must  be  delivered  at 
all  cost !"  The  full,  boyish  lips  were  pressed 
tightly  together  ;  but  he  was  trying  to  conquer 
himself. 

"  Hip  !"  roared  the  men. 

"It's  only  an  idle  form,"  pleaded  the  dis 
patch  ;  "say  it." 

With  a  poor  attempt  at  careless  laughter, 
George  managed  to  falter  out— "  Hip— hip— 
hoo-r-a-r." 

' c  Pooh  !' '  exclaimed  a  bony  guerrilla,  ' '  that 
ain't  got  ther  genu-ine  ring  ter  it,  no  how. 


THE   DKTTMMER-BOY.  113 

Here's  a  testerment  that  I  tuk  from  that 
whinin'  Union  wooman,  whar  we  was  rum- 
agin'  yest'day.  Try  him  on  that.  Here, 
young  un,  kiss  this  ere  book  fur  Jeff.  Davis, 
an'  yer  may  shake  hands  an'  go  yer  ways,  or 
stay  with  us — as  yer  like.  Ef  yer  doan'  t  do  it, 
ye'r  Yank  ter  the  "backbone  ;  an'  we'll  make 
cold  meat  o'  yer  in  less  'n  no  time  !" 

<  <  Ha  !  ha  !  Them' s  it !  Thef  11  fetch  him !" 
cried  several  voices. 

All  this  time  they  had  been  riding  briskly 
across  the  country.  ISTow  they  entered  a 
dense  wood,  and  pulled  up  their  horses. 

George's  heart  fairly  thumped  against  the 
dispatch  as  they  held  the  Sacred  Book  to 
ward  him. 

"At  all  costs!"  thought  he,  "but  not  at 
that  cost !" 

Captain  Warner,  his  mother,  Lucy,  and 
dear  little  Sandy  seemed  crowding  round  him. 
Pale  faces  seemed  looking  pleadingly  into  his 
own.  He  stretched,  forth  his  hand  implo 
ringly. 

"Guy!"  cried  the  guerrilla,  thrusting  the 
Book  at  him.  "  Ef  he  ain't  goin'  ter  do  it !" 

A  few  others  shouted  enthusiastically— 

8 


114  IRVINGTON   STORIES. 

"  Hi !  giv  us  yer  hand,  young  un  !" 

{ c  Hurry  up  ! ' '  growled  the  leader.  ' '  We'  ve 
'been  a  foolin'  here  too  long  already.  Kiss 
ther  book  fur  Jeff.  Davis,  ef  yer  goin'  ter — ef 
not,  say  yer  prayers  !" 

A  brutal  laugh  followed  this  hint. 

"  Kiss  the  thing  '  fur  Jeff,'  an'  hurry  up  !" 
growled  two  or  three. 

George  sat  erect  upon  his  horse — his  reso 
lution  was  made. 

"  NEVER  !"  he  cried  in  a  loud  voice,  as  he 
clutched  the  bridle,  and,  with  all  the  energy 
of  desperation,  drove  his  spurs  into  the  ani 
mal' s  sides.  Before  the  astonished  crowd 
could  collect  their  faculties,  he  was  tearing 
out  of  the  wood. 

"Get  up!"  screamed  the  boy,  using  his 
spurs  again  and  again.  The  horse  needed  no 
further  urging.  Frantic  with  pain  and  terror, 
he  dashed  along,  sending  thick  clouds  of 
dust  into  the  sultry  air. 

With  fierce  yells  and  imprecations,  the 
Rebels  came  rushing  after  him.  Soon  half  a 
dozen  shots  were  fired  in  quick  succession. 

George  did  not  hear  them  all.  After  the 
second  shot,  he  was  lying  bleeding  and  mo- 


THE   DRUMMER-BOY.  115 

tionless  upon  the  road,   and   his  horse  was 
galloping  madly  toward  the  Union  lines. 

The  guerrillas  were  soon  hurrying  on  in  an 
opposite  direction,  laughing  and  swearing  to 
gether  at  the  i  '  desprit  pluck'  '  of  the  4  '  dead 
little  Yank." 

VI. 

KIND     HEARTS     IN    ROUGH     BODIES. 


horse  told  his  story  in  his  own  peculiar 
way  when  he  dashed,  panting  and  "bleed 
ing,  past  the  Union  pickets,  into  the  Union 
lines. 

"  Some  of  the  soldiers  recognized  him  at  once 
as  "that  new  horse  of  Captain  "Warner's." 

"  Poor  fellow!"  they  sighed;  "he's  been 
murdered,  most  likely  ;"  and  then  they  talked 
about  other  matters,  or  sang,  in  careless 
chorus— 

"  We'll  hang  Jeff.  Davis  on  a  sour  apple-tree, 
As  we  go  marching  on!" 

Soldiers,  in  war  times,  cannot  stop  to  wring 
their  hands  over  every  hero  that  falls.  Do 


116  IKVINGTON   STORIES. 

you  remember  reading  the  account  of  Doctor 
Livingstone,  the  traveller ;  how,  when  a  huge 
lioness  seized  him,  and  his  shoulder  was 
yielding  "beneath  her  crushing  teeth,  a  dull 
insensibility  came  over  him  ?  Perhaps  God, 
in  his  mercy,  sends  some  such  dulness  to  our 
brave  fellows  that  the  horrors  of  war  may 
not  madden  them. 

Well,  the  horse  told  his  story  to  the  pickets 
and  the  other  soldiers  ;  and  one  of  them  re 
peated  it  to  an  officer  who  knew  that  Captain 
Warner  had  recently  been  appointed  aide- 
de-camp  ;*  and  so  it  ended  in  a  body  of 
men  being  sent  out  to  search  for  the  missing 
officer. 

Meantime,  George,  who  had  recovered  his 
senses,  sat  by  the  road- side,  wondering  what 
had  happened.  He  was  bruised  and  lame 
from  head  to  foot ;  and  he  had  a  very  pecu 
liar  sensation  in  his  left  shoulder.  His  jacket 
was  torn,  and  soaked  with  blood  ;  and  beneath 
its  folds — though  George  did  not  know  it — was 
the  track  of  a  guerrilla' s  bullet. 

He  tried  to   stand,  but  was  forced  to  sit 

*  An  officer  employed  under  a  general  to  convey  his  orders. 


THE   DKUMMEB-BOY.  117 

down  again.  Soon  a  sickening  sensation 
came  over  him. 

"Perhaps,"  thought  he,  closing  his  eyes, 
and  shuddering,  "  this  is  death !"  Then  home- 
faces  rose  before  him  again,  and  the  dispatch 
seemed  to  press  against  his  side  like  a  support 
ing  hand.  A  soft,  tender  breeze  passed  and 
repassed  him — wooing  him  back  to  life.  He 
could  even  hear  the  birds  singing.  Perhaps 
he  could  stand  now.  If  he  could  only  reach 
his  regiment,  and  deliver  the  dispatch,  all 
might  yet  be  well. 

He  rose  slowly  to  his  feet.  Faint  and  bleed 
ing,  the  poor  boy  staggered  forward  a  few 
steps,  then  felt  mechanically  for  his  canteen 
and  haver  sac!  v.  They  had  been  taken  from 
him  by  the  guerrillas  !  With  a  remembrance 
of  this  loss,  came  a  burning  thirst.  He  glanced 
uneasily  at  the  woods — there  might  be  a  brook 
or  a  spring  there — but  his  persecutors  might 
still  be  lurking  in  its  shadows.  ISTo !  he 
would  go  on,  away  from  that  spot,  at  any  rate. 

Six  hours  afterward,  he  was  still  plodding 
painfully  onward  in  the  dark,  dreading  lest 
he  might  be  going  in  exactly  the  wrong  direc 
tion,  when  suddenly  a  voice  cried— 


118  IRVHS-GTON   STOEIES. 

' <  Halt !     Who  goes  there  ?' ' 

Too  much  startled,  at  first,  to  reply,  George 
managed  to  stammer  out — "  FRIEND  !"  just  as 
an  ominous  click  warned  him  to  be  expe 
ditious. 

It  proved  to  "be  a  Union  picket,  who,  after  a 
little  stern  questioning,  allowed  the  wounded 
boy  to  pass.  Before  long,  George,  sick  and 
weary  as  he  was,  stood  by  a  sleepy  Orderly, 
begging  to  be  conducted  to  one  of  the  staff 
officers  at  once. 

"  Impossible  !"  yawned  the  Orderly. 

"  But  I  have  important  business,  I  tell  you." 

"Pooh!" 

' ( I  am  wounded,  and  F  ve  walked  for  miles 
all  alone  in  the  dark,  to  bring  something  to 
the  General  from  Captain  Warner." 

The  Orderly  opened  his  eyes  at  last. 

"  Captain  Warner  !  That's  a  likely  story. 
The  Capt'n's  just  been  brought  in  hisself— - 
'most  dead." 

' ' '  Most  dead  ! ' '  echoed  George.  ' c  Isn'  t  he 
dead?" 

"No,  he  ain't." 

Uttering  a  cry  of  joy,  the  boy  fell  senseless 
upon  the  ground. 


THE   DRUMMER-BOY.  119 


"Hello!  What's  up  now  1"  grunted  the 
Orderly.  ' '  Here' s  another  case. ' ' 

Did  you  ever  see  a  short,  fleshy  man,  with 
a  border  of  grizzly  whisker  around  a  red, 
hilly  face— a  great  lumpy  nose  in  the  middle 
of  it ;  a  wide  mouth  under  that,  with  its  teeth 
dark  and  stained  with  tobacco — and  just  as 
this  queer  face  seemed  to  be  growling  and 
grumbling  at  its  worst,  find  out  that  the 
dumpy  little  man  was  in  the  kindliest  humor 
possible  \  If  so,  you  have  seen  a  man  very 
much  like  Orderly  Block. 

Grumbling  and  grunting,  he  threw  water 
upon  George's  face,  and  carried  him  into  his 
own  tent.  As  soon  as  the  boy  showed  signs 
of  life,  lie  bade  him  lie  quiet,  and  not  fret, 
and  then  ran  growling  and  grumbling  into  his 
Colonel' s  quarters,  near  by. 

The  dispatch  was  delivered  at  last ;  and 
George,  in  spite  of  pain  and  anxiety,  sank 
into  a  deep,  refreshing  sleep. 

He  told  his  story,  the  next  day,  to  one  of 
the  officers,  and  even  had  an  interview  with 
General  Pope,  who  thanked  him  heartily  for 
his  services,  and  made  him  blush  like  a  girl  by 
merely  alluding  to  his  coolness  and  bravery. 


120  IKVINGTON   STOKIES. 

Next  the  surgeon  came  in. 

"How  now,  my  little  man,"  said  he,  pro 
ceeding  rather  roughly,  as  George  thought, 
to  remove  the  stiffened  jacket,  and  examine 
the  wound.  "What  have  we  here  ?" 

"  A  guerrilla' s  compliments,  I  believe,  sir," 
panted  George,  trying  to  laugh. 

"Ha!  ha!  you're  not  killed  yet,  I  see. 
Humph !  Hurts  a  little,  eh  '*  These  bullets 
are  ugly  things.  It's  not  much,"  he  added,  as 
he  secured  the  last  strip  of  plaster,  "merely  a 
flesh-wound.  Is  there  any  thing  else  ?" 

"ISTo,  sir — only  bruises.  The  horse  gave  me 
an  ugly  tumble,  I  suspect." 

"Just  so.  It's  hardly  probable  that  he 
knelt,  camel-fashion,  to  let  you  slide  off,"  said 
the  surgeon,  punching  the  youth  from  head  to 
foot,  in  quite  a  professional  manner.  ' l  Eh  ! 
Hurt  you  then  ?"  he  asked,  as  his  patient  drew 
a  quicker  breath  than  usual. 

"No,  sir,  not  particularly." 

"Well,  there  are  no  internal  injuries,  it 
seems.  All  on  the  surface,  my  boy.  You'll 
be  all  right  in  a  day  or  two." 

George  gave  a  long  sigh  of  relief. 

"  Could  I  have  a  drink  of  water,  doctor?" 


THE  DRUMMER-BOY.  121 

"  Certainly.  Here,  nurse,  just  attend  to  this 
little  chap."  And  the  surgeon  walked  away. 

"Doctor!" 

"What  now?"  halting  impatiently. 

"May  I  see  Captain  Warner,  Sir  ?" 

"  Captain  w7io  f" 

' '  Warner,  Sir — the  officer  who  was  brought 
in  last  night." 

' '  Oh,  no  !  You  must  remain  perfectly 
quiet  to-day." 

A  big  tear  rolled  down  George' s  cheek  as  the 
surgeon' s  portly  form  vanished  from  the  tent. 

' c  Was  it  wather  ye  wanted  ?' '  asked  a  low 
voice  beside  him — not  a  woman's  voice — for 
there  were  no  women  nurses  in  the  camp. 

This  nurse  was  an  Irishman,  with  a  big 
heart  and  a  very  little  nose,  who  was  wont  to 
say  to  his  intimate  friends — 

"  If  them  as  made  me  had  divided  the  fay- 
tures  ayvin,  shure  there'd  a  bin  more  ter 
smell  wid,  and  not  such  a  mighty  convaynient 
openin'  fur  puttin'  in  the  atables." 

When  George  nodded  feebly,  the  kind- 
hearted  Irishman  gave  him  a  drink,  support 
ing  him,  meanwhile,  as  tenderly  as  a  woman 
could  have  done. 


122  IRVINGTON   STORIES. 

A  few  moments  after  the  patient's  head  was 
laid  upon  the  pillow  again,  he  opened  his  eyes 
to  ask — 

"Can  you  tell  me  any  thing  about  Captain 
Warner?" 

"Faix  I  can.  It  was  meself  held  the  Ian- 
thorn  for  the  docther  alongside  him,  a  half 
hour  afther  '  tattoo'  last  night.  It  was  in  the 
side  he  was  hurted." 

"  Will  he  get  well?  Will  he  ever  be  able 
to  walk?" 

"Faith,  it's  to  his  grave  he'll  be  walkin', 
before  long,  I'm  thinkin'.  There's  a  faver  on 
him  since  the  night." 

George  moaned. 

"Tut,  tut,  don't  be  grievin',  lad.  Kape 
aisy,  now — you've  lost  a  power  o'  blood, 
and  things  luks  kind  o'  dark  to  ye.  Ye' 11  be 
another  buy  the  morrow." 

With  this  attempt  at  consolation,  the  nurse 
moved  lightly  away. 

Soon  a  loud,  boyish  voice  was  heard  out 
side  the  hospital  tent. 

"  Let  me  in,  I  say  !  He's  a  friend  o'  mine, 
and  I  want  to  see  him  !" 

The    reply  was  smothered,   but    very  de- 


THE  DRUMMEK-BOY.  123 

cided — "  Go  along  wid  ye  ;  lie's  ashlape,  and 
can't  be  disturbed  for  the  likes  of  ye." 

i  i  But  lie  must  want  to  see  a  fellow.  I  won' t 
say  a  single  word.  I'll  just  take  one  squint 
at  him,  an'  come  out.  Will  that  satisfy  you, 
Old  Crusty  r 

Old  Crusty  was  persuaded  more  by  the 
earnest  tone  than  by  the  words  of  the  appeal. 
He  had  a  boy  at  home — just  George's  age. 

"Well,  ye  may  take  one  turn.  Be  aisy 
now  !  Don't  ye  get  spakin'  to  the  buy.  It 
isn'  t  meeself  that '  ud  kape  the  lad  from  seein' 
his  friend,  if  it's  that  that's  a  wantin'." 

In  an  instant  Jessup  sat  on  the  edge  of 
George' s  cot,  taking  a  ' '  squint, ' '  to  his  heart' s 
content. 

' '  I  know'  d  it  was  you  th'  moment  I  heerd 
them  talkin'  about  it.  Why,  man,  you  look 
as  if  all  th'  blood  was  washed  out  of  you— 
clean  sweep— 

' '  Pshaw  !"  answered  George,  feebly.  "  If  s 
nothing.  I'll  be  able  to  beat  the  Reveille 
with  you  day  after  to-morrow." 

"  Not  with  me  you  won't,  unless  they  hurry 
up  and  give  me  a  drum.  Do  you  know  mine 
was  shot  clean  through  in  the  fight  yesterday? 


124  IRVINGTON   STOEIES. 

And  it  started  me  so,  I  kind'er  flung  away  my 
drum- sticks  afore  I  know'd  it.  (You  ain't 
gettin'  tired,  are  you?)  Well,  then,  seein'  it 
warn't  no  more  use  ter  me,  I  jist  pitched  it 
down,  and  caught  up  a  rifle  that  was  layin' 
there,  and  popped  at  a  Rebel.  But  the  blamed 
thing  missed  fire.  Wasn't  I  sorry,  though  ?  I 
wouldn't  mind  killin'  one  of  them  fellers  a 
bit  more'n  toad-stickin' !" 

"  Have  you  heard  any  thing  about  Captain 
Warner?"  asked  George. 

"  I  heard  just  now  that  he  warn't  dead  yet ; 
that's  all.  One  of  the  officers  was  talkin'  to 
another  one.  Them  Rebels  are  too  all-fired 
mean  for  any  thing.  Do  you  know  they  stript 
the  Captain,  as  he  laid  for  dead  in  the  woods, 
of  every  thing  but  his  trowsers  3  They  even 
got  his  boots.  And  his  trowsers  pockets  was 
all  turned  out.  I  heerd  the  officer  say,  'if 
he  hadn't  given  that  little  chap  the  dispatch, 
it  would  have  been  a  bad  bisness.'  Who 
was  the  little  chap,  I  wonder — not  you,  was 
it?" 

Jessup'  s  voice  had  gradually  grown  from  a 
whisper  to  quite  an  audible  pitch.  It  caught 
the  "  nurse's"  ear.  Instantly  came  a  whis- 


THE  DRUMMER-BOY.  125 

pered  command,  accompanied  with  a  look  not 
to  be  disregarded. 

"  Be  off  widye  I" 

Jessup  ventured  a  hearty,  almost  tender 
"Good-by,  Benson!"  and  shuffled  hastily 
from  the  tent. 

George  sank  into  a  doze,  at  last,  and 
dreamed  that  he  saw  Captain  Warner,  and 
asked  him  what  it  was  that  he  wished  him  to 
say  to  Lucy,  and  that  the  Captain  instantly 
roared,  "Jeff.  Davis!"  and  held  out  a  drum 
for  him  to  kiss. 


VII. 


SHOWING  HOW  A  GENERAL  MADE  A  FALSE 
CHARGE. 

WHEN  it  was  ascertained,  as  stated  in  the 
dispatch  which  George  brought  to  Gen 
eral  Pope,  that  the  rebels  were  moving  to 
ward  Maryland,  our  forces  commenced  to  fall 
back  in  the  direction  of  Washington,  so  as  to 
cross  the  Potomac  River,  and  march  to  meet 
them.  It  was  a  hot,  sultry  afternoon  when  the 
march  commenced,  and  the  road  leading  from 


126  IRVINGTON   STOKIES. 

Centreyille  to  Fairfax  Court-House,  and  from 
there  to  Alexandria  and  Washington,  soon 
became  crowded  with  troops,  artillery,  and 
wagons. 

About  five  miles  from  Centreville  our  troops 
came  into  collision  with  the  rear-guard  of  the 
enemy,  at  a  place  called  Chantilly. 

When  the  rebels  were  discovered,  George' s 
regiment  was  sent  forward  to  skirmish  with 
them.  He  accompanied  it — though  his  wound 
was  scarcely  two  days  old,  and  pained  him  at 
every  motion  he  made. 

Our  men  were  in  ambush  at  first :  that  is, 
they  all  concealed  themselves,  as  well  as  pos 
sible,  behind  trees  and  bushes.  George  sat 
at  the  foot  of  a  large  oak.  Soon  the  cool  little 
fellow  was  eating  his  supper  off  his  drum -head. 
It  was  the  same  old  drum  that  he  had  left 
in  the  forest.  It  had  been  overlooked  by  the 
guerrillas,  and  had  been  brought  in  on  that 
night  with  the  wounded  Captain. 

Our  men  were  not  quiet  long.  Suddenly 
the  Rebels,  in  great  numbers,  rushed  upon 
them,  yelling  and  firing.  Overwhelmed  by  a 
vastly  superior  force,  the  regiment  was  com 
pelled  to  fall  back  ;  and  George,  who  wit- 


THE  DRUMMER-BOY.  127 

nessed  their  hasty  retreat,  was  not  able  to 
follow  them.  He  had  "been  beating  his  drum, 
as  well  as  his  bandaged  shoulder  would  allow, 
during  the  first  excitement  of  the  contest ;  but 
now  he  concluded  that  the  more  quietly  and 
modestly  he  behaved  himself,  the  better 
chance  he  would  have  of  remaining  unseen 
by  the  enemy. 

He,  therefore,  crawled  back  under  the 
bushes,  and  had  just  pulled  his  drum  out  of 
sight  when  the  Rebels  rushed  by  without  dis 
covering  him. 

Following  them  was  one  of  their  own 
officers  on  horseback.  George  was  so  nearly 
under  the  feet  of  the  prancing  steed,  that  to 
escape  from  being  trodden  upon,  he  quickly 
drew  himself  into  as  small  a  space  as  possible. 
At  this  movement,  the  horse  gave  a  spring, 
nearly  throwing  the  rider,  and  causing  him  to 
drop  a  sword  which  he  was  waving  in  the 
air.  Without  making  any  attempt  to  recover 
his  weapon,  the  Rebel  officer  bent  all  his  ener 
gies  upon  subduing  the  fractious  animal,  now 
bounding  furiously  with  him  out  of  the  wood. 

George  waited  for  a  few  moments  ;  then 
cautiously  looking  around  him,  he  seized  the 


128  IKVINGTON   STOEIES. 

sword,  and  slinging  his  drum  over  Ms  shoul 
der,  dodged  in  another  direction,  among  the 
thick  underbrush. 

After  going  about  half  a  mile,  he  came  upon 
some  of  our  own  men,  and  before  long  was 
with  his  regiment  again. 

He  had  now  time  to  examine  his  trophy. 
It  was  a  superb  sword.  Its  shining  blade 
reflected  a  funnily-shaped  face,  grinning  with 
boyish  delight ;  and  its  richly  ornamented 
handle  of  pure  gold  would  have  caused  even 
an  older  heart  to  thump  with  satisfaction. 

"  Whew !"  thought  George;  "this  is  a 
treasure,  indeed !  Won't  it  make  Master 
Sandy  open  his  eyes  !" 

Just  then  he  spied  a  name  engraved  upon 
the  handle.  Reading  it,  he  fairly  turned  pale 
— it  was  the  name  of  a  Union  General,  the 
commander  of  George' s  own  brigade  ! 

"Then  I  can't  keep  it,  after  all,"  was  the 
first  thought  that  arose  to  his  mind. 

Thought  number  two  whispered — "  But  it's 
mine  now  !  It  was  certainly  in  the  hand  of  a 
Rebel  officer  ;  and  I  saw  him  drop  it."  First 
thought  growing  stronger,  insisted,  "It's  the 
General's  sword,  never  mind  who  dropped 


THE   DRITMMEIl-BOY. 

it."  And  so  Captain  George,  like  a  right- 
minded  boy,  resolved  to  deliver  the  sword  to 
its  lawful  owner,  at  the  veiy  first  opportu 
nity. 

The  Colonel  of  the  — tli  Regiment  was 
standing  not  far  away,  watching  the  boy's 
movements  with  great  interest.  Finally  he 
spoke — 

"  What  have  you  there,  Sir  ?" 

"A  trophy,  Colonel."  And  George  told 
his  story  in  a  few,  simple  words. 

Early  the  next  day,  George  slung  the  sword 
over  his  shoulder — for  he  had  no  scabbard  to 
put  it  in — and,  carrying  his  drum  as  usual, 
was  marching  at  the  head  of  his  regiment. 
He  was  very  pale  and  woak  ;  but  he  looked, 
every  inch,  a  soldier,  as  he  trudged  manfully 
on. 

Presently  the  General  and  his  staff  came 
riding  along.  While  our  hero  was  deciding 
how  he  should  arrest  his  commander's  atten 
tion,  and  what  he  ought  to  say  in  delivering 
up  his  trophy,  the  General  suddenly  stopped, 
and  called  out— 

"Here!  you  drummer-boy,  where  did  you 

steal  that  sword  V ' 
9 


130  IRVINGTON   STOEIES. 

"I  did  not  steal  it,  Sir,"  replied  George, 
flushing  crimson.  "  I  captured  it  from  a 
rebel  officer  yesterday." 

"A  pretty  story  that  is,"  said  the  General. 
4 '  Here,  Orderly,  take  it  away  from  him,  and 
bring  him  along  to  my  quarters  !  I  am  glad  I 
have  at  last  found  the  thief  who  stole  my 
sword !" 

George's  eyes  fairly  blazed  with  indigna 
tion. 

"  I  am  no  thief !"  he  cried,  looking  defiance 
at  the  approaching  Orderly. 

It  was  Orderly  Block.  A  sorrowful  look 
shaded  his  red  face,  as  with  one  flourish  of 
his  strong  arms  he  removed  the  sword  from 
the  boy's  shoulder,  and  handed  it  to  his  com 
mander. 

At  this  point,  an  officer  rode  forward  and 
addressed  the  General,  telling  him  that  young 
Benson  was  as  honest  a  lad  as  ever  breathed, 
and  that  there  must  be  some  mistake  in  the 
matter. 

"No  mistake  at  all!"  roared  the  General, 
who  was  not  accustomed  to  being  contra 
dicted.  "  Hang  it,  Sir !  can't  I  read  my  own 
name?" 


THE   DRUMMER-BOY.  131 

Colonel  R ,  who  had  been  in  earnest 

conversation  with,  a  brother  officer,  and  had 
but  just  noticed  the  commotion,  now  came 
forward. 

He  soon  told  his  General  the  story  of  the 
sword,  precisely  as  George  had  related  it  to 
him  the  night  before. 

"  This  is  the  same  drummer-boy,"  he 
added,  ' '  of  whose  encounter  with  the  guerril 
las  I  lately  spoke  to  you.  He  cannot  have 
recovered  from  his  wound  yet.  General  Pope 
himself  would  vouch  for  that  boy's  char 
acter,  Sir." 

"A  very  singular  affair  this!"  exclaimed 
the  General,  somewhat  subdued — "Very 
singular,  indeed.  I  cannot  understand  it  at 
all — for  the  sword  is  certainly  mine.  I  missed 
it  from  my  tent  one  morning  when  we  were 
on  the  Peninsula." 

The  Colonel  replied  with  a  positive,  but 
respectful— 

"Well,  Sir,  I  can  affirm  that  Benson  did 
not  steal  it.  May  it  not, ' '  he  added,  ' '  have 
been  taken  by  some  other  person  who  was 
afterward  made  prisoner,  or  killed  by  the 
Rebels ';" 


132  IKVINGTON   STORIES. 

"Ahem!  Hardly,"  was  the  thoughtful 
reply. 

"  Benson  never  had  it  in  his  possession 
until  last  night,"  ventured  two  or  three 
voices,  whose  owners  now  felt  that  they 
V  must  /speak,  if  they  died  for  it." 

"  All  right!"  cried  the  General,  "  for  here  I 
see  engraved  on  the  end  of  the  handle  some 
thing  that  explains  it  all."  And  peering 
closely  at  the  inscription,  he  read  aloud  these 
words  : 

Captured  at  Fair  Oa7cs  by  Captain  Ran 
dolph  Leslie. 

"That  proves,"  he  continued,  "that  the 
Rebel  Captain  obtained  it  at  that  battle  ;  but 
how  it  ever  got  there  is  still  a  mystery.  You 
are  cleared,  however,  my  little  man  (turning 
to  George).  Here  is  five  dollars  for  you  as  a 
reward ;  and  I  beg  your  pardon,  Sir,  for 
accusing  you  so  hastily." 

The  tears  sprang  to  George's  eyes,  as  he 
answered,  proudly— 

"  I  forgive  you,  Sir,  with  all  my  heart ;  but 
I  cannot  take  money  for  returning  the  sword. 


THE  DRUMMER-BOY.  133 

I  intended  to  restore  it  to  yon  at  the  first 
opportunity." 

"Well,  well,"  said  the  General,  laughing. 
"If  you  won't  accept  any  money,  we  must 
give  you  the  sword  itself.  As  soon  as  we  get 
to  Washington,  I  will  have  a  scabbard  made 
for  it,  and  express  it  wherever  you  may 
direct." 

George's  heart  beat  joyfully,  as  with  a  quiet 
"Thank  you,  General,"  he  took  his  place 
again  at  the  head  of  the  line. 


VIII. 
THE    BRAVE    SOLDIER    BOY. 

CONCLUSION. 

army  crossed  the  Potomac,  and  march- 
ed  into  Maryland,  to  encounter  the  enemy. 
After  various  preliminary  conflicts,  in  which 
the  Rebels  were  driven  back,  they  finally 
made  a  stand  at  Sharpsburg,  on  the  range  of 
hills  behind  Antietam  creek.  After  our  army 
had  come  up  in  front  of  them,  and  their  po 
sition  had  been  learned,  an  attack  on  their 


134  IRVINGTON   STOEIES. 

right  was  decided  upon.  T!Ae  brigade  to 
which  George's  regiment  belonged  was  or 
dered  for  this  service.  It  marched  along  at 
the  loot  of  the  hill  for  about  two  miles  ;  and 
then,  fronting  by  the  left  face,  commenced  to 
ascend.  They  had  not  gone  far  before  the 
Rebel  sharpshooters  began  to  fire.  Presently 
a  Rebel  battery  opened  upon  them.  The 
shells  screamed  horribly  through  the  air,  and 
burst  over  their  heads ;  bat  still  the  brave 
fellows  pressed  forward  up  the  hill — not  yet 
having  had  chance  to  fire  a  shot.  The  General, 
accompanied  by  his  staff,  came  riding  down 
the  line. 

"  Now,  boys  !"  he  shouted,  "  we  must  take 
that  battery  !" 

The  men  responded  with  loud  hurrahs. 

"  Forward  !  Double-quick  !  Charge  !" 
cried  the  General.  Instantly  the  line  started 
on  a  quick  run,  with  which  George  could 
scarcely  keep  up  ;  but  he  followed  as  fast  as 
possible,  beating  his  drum  and  cheering. 
The  Rebel  line  now  opened  a  terrible  fire.  It 
seemed  as  if  a  sheet  of  flame  had  burst  forth 
from  the  edge  of  the  woods  where  they  were. 
The  roar  of  cannon  was  terrific.  More  than 


THE   DRUMMER-BOY.  135 

a  hundred  of  our  noble  fellows  fell  dead  or 
wounded  ;  but  still  our  brigade  pressed  on. 
They  were  just  on  the  point  of  closing  with 
the  Rebels  when  a  battery  in  the  woods,  which 
had  not  before  been  seen,  opened  on  the  left, 
and  commenced  throwing  canister-shot  — 
which  swept  down  our  men  as  though  a  tor 
nado  had  come  upon  them  ! 

Not  being  able  to  withstand  such  a  terrific 
fire,  the  poor  fellows  wavered,  and  soon  com 
menced  to  fall  back — slowly  at  first,  but 
finally  getting  disordered,  and  breaking  into 
a  run,  while  the  Rebels  yelled  in  derision. 

George  followed  his  regiment  a  short  dis 
tance  ;  but  when  "  second  thoughts"  came, 
he  jumped  upon  a  rock,  and  commenced 
beating  "  the  charge"  on  his  drum  with  all 
his  might. 

"Come  back,  men!  Come  back!"  he 
shouted.  "Don't  run  ! — PLEASE  don't  run  !" 

Rub-a-dub-dub!  "Come  back  !—  come 
back!" 

George  made  enough  noise  for  a  dozen. 
What  did  he  care  for  the  shot  falling  around 
him  in  every  direction.  He  heard  only  those 
mocking  yells — saw  only  that  the  men  with 


136  IRVIXGTOX   STORIES. 

Right  on  their  side  were  yielding  to  tempo 
rary  Might. 

"  Come  "back  !     Come  back  !" 

Meantime,  the  General  and  his  officers  had 
succeeded  in  rallying  the  men.  When  they 
were  formed  into  line  again,  they  looked  up 
and  saw  George.  He  was  growing  hoarse  by 
this  time  ;  but  nearly  every  man  heard  his 
glad  "hurrah !" 

With  one  tremendous  cheer  they  rushed 
past  him,  and  onward,  closer  and  closer,  to 
the  rebel  battery. 

Just  at  that  moment  George  felt  a  peculiar 
shock,  which  sent  him  rolling  headlong.  He 
fell  upon  the  ground  with  his  drum  at  his 
side.  Somebody  came  running  up.  The  boy 
felt  a  strong,  tender  arm  around  him. 

"Hello,  Jessup  !"  he  cried  faintly.  "Is  it 
you  ?  They'  ve  hit  me  at  last !' ' 

Jessup  was  in  great  distress.  If  he  loved 
any  one  on  earth,  besides  his  parents,  it  was 
Captain  George. 

"What  shall  I  do?"  he  cried.  You  can't 
lie  here.  The  rebels  will  be  sweeping  down 
over  you  in  an  instant." 

"NO!"    cried  George,    raising  himself  on 


THE   DBUMMEB-BOY.  137 

his  elbow.  "They  shall  not  come  back. 
Our  men  must  take  the  battery  !  Get  me  np 
on  the  rock  again,  Jessup  !  Let  me  drum  for 
them  once  more  !" 

It  was  a  difficult  undertaking ;  but  George 
was  resolute.  Soon,  with  the  aid  of  Jessup' s 
strong  arm,  he  was  sitting  upon  the  rock 
beating  his  drum,  with  all  the  force  he  pos 
sessed.  Once,  in  his  excitement,  he  even 
tried  to  rise,  but  in  vain.  His  limbs  were 
powerless  beneath  him. 

Our  men  were  now  going  on  gallantly 
amidst  fire  and  smoke.  Soon  a  tremendous 
cheer  told  that  they  had  driven  the  rebels 
from  their  position,  and  gained  the  height. 

"Hear  them  !"  cried  Jessup,  who  felt  his 
friend  suddenly  growing  heavier. 

But  George  could  not  hear  anything  now — 
he  had  fainted. 


This  time  George's  wound  was  far  more 
serious.  It  was  in  his  leg  ;  and  when  the 
surgeon  dressed  it,  he  shook  his  head  gravely. 

"  With  great  care,"  said  he  to  the  Colonel, 
' '  we  may  save  the  limb  ;  but  I  fear  it  will 


138  IRVINGTON    STORIES. 

have  to  be  amputated,  in  the  end.  Best  plan 
will  be  to  send  the  brave  little  chap  home  as 
soon  as  practicable — he  won't  be  fit  for  ser 
vice  for  many  a  month  to  come.  Such  young 
boys  as  that  have  no  business  to  be  in  the 
army,  anyhow.  They  ought  all  to  be  treated 
to  a  sound  spanking  as  soon  as  they  come, 
and  then  sent  back  to  school — where  they 
belong." 

The  Colonel  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and 
laughed.  But  when,  that  very  afternoon,  he 
started  a  subscription  for  the  disabled  boy, 
he  knew  well  enough  that  he  would  get  a 
good  round  sum  from  the  Surgeon. 

The  General  and  all  the  staff-officers  entered 
heartily  into  the  Colonel's  plan.  In  a  few 
hours,  no  less  than  one  thousand  dollars  were 
contributed. 

"Take  it,"  said  he  to  George,  as  soon 
as  our  gallant  little  "Captain"  was  strong 
enough  to  bear  the  good  news.  "It  is  a 
tribute  of  respect  and  esteem  from  your  offi 
cers." 

George' s  eyes  sparkled. 

' '  Oh  !  God  bless  you,  Colonel !  God  bless 
them  all  !  Why,  one  thousand  dollars  will 


THE  DEUMMEK-BOY.  139 

more  than  pay  off  mother's  mortgage — now 
she  can  own  the  cottage  all  herself !" 

"  To  "be  sure  she  can!"  responded  the 
Colonel,  heartily — though  he  had  not  the 
slightest  idea  to  what  particular  cottage 
George  referred.  He  knew  enough  of  the 
boy's  history,  however,  to  feel  sure  that  the 
money  would  be  well  applied. 

"You  see,  there's  a  mortgage  on  it,  Sir," 
continued  George,  "  of  five  hundred  dollars  ; 
and  now  it  can  be  paid  off.  But,  Colonel,  I 
don't  deserve  this  money  !" 

The  Colonel  laughed. 

"Why,  you  are  quite  a  business  man 
already.  But  never  mind  your  deserts.  We 
may  think  differently  on  that  subject.  Shak- 
speare  says : 

"  '  Use  every  man  after  his  desert, 
And  who  shall  'scape  whipping  ?' 

"Ha!  ha!  So  you  see  you're  a  pretty 
lucky  little  dog,  after  all.  Good-by,  my  man. 
The  surgeon  says  .you  are  to  be  sent  home  in 
a  fortnight.  So  get  well  as  soon  you  can. 
Good-by!" 


140  IRVINGTON   STORIES. 

Throughout  the  entire  Union  camp,  not  a 
more  earnest  prayer  ascended  to  God  that 
night  than  that  which  arose  from  the  heart  of 
Captain  George. 

A  few  days  afterward,  he  was  able  to  write 
to  Lucy  again. 

"By  the  time  this  reaches  you,"  the  letter 
said,  i '  mother  will  have  received  the  package 

from  Colonel  R .  So  I  need  not  tell  you 

that  good  news.  I  hope  my  note  did  not 
frighten  her.  It  must  have  been  written  in 
queer  style,  for  I  was  in  a  great  deal  of  pain 
at  the  time — though  I  did  not  think  it  best  to 
say  so. 

c '  The  doctor  says  I  can  be  sent  home  in  ten 
days  ;  and  that  I  shan't  be  really  lame — only 
just  a  slight  limp  that  I  may  possibly  out 
grow.  You  must  all  try  not  to  feel  badly 
about  it ;  because,  you  see,  it  might  have 
been  so  much  worse.  For  my  own  part,  I 
shall  be  so  glad  to  get  on  my  feet  again  that  I 
shan't  be  very  particular.  And  really,  Lucy, 
I  would  be  willing,  for  the  sake  of  the  Union, 
to  limp  all  my  life.  But  don't  tell  Stephen  or 
the  boys  that  I  said  so,  for  they  would  just 
call  it  c  blowing.' 


THE   DRUMMER-BOY.  141 

"It  is  very  good  in  you  to  put  off  the 
wedding  till  I  get  back.  Who  knows  but  I 
may  be  able  to  dance  the  polka  on  the  grand 
occasion  !  Good-by,  Lucy  !  Give  a  kiss  to 
mother  and  Sandy,  and  tell  mother  that  her 
letters  are  all  under  my  pillow.  Kiss  the 
Cap — ,  I  mean,  give  my  respects  to  the  Cap 
tain,  and  tell  him  there' s  a  good  deal  for  him 
to  do  here  when  he  gets  ready  to  come.  How 
strange  it  seems !  The  last  time  I  looked 
upon  him,  I  thought  he  would  never  breathe 
again — still  less  that — but  I  don1 1  want  to  be 
sentimental.  I  can  wish  you  joy,  though,  if 
I  am  only  a  boy — you  dear,  good  sister  Lucy. 

"  Jessup  has  turned  out  to  be  a  splendid 
fellow.  All  the  soldiers  like  him.  He  is 
rough  in  his  ways,  to  be  sure,  but  there  isn't 
a  better-hearted  boy  in  the  regiment.  He  has 
improved  in  some  things ;  but  I  tell  you, 
Lucy,  a  camp  is  not  the  best  place  in  the 
Avorld  for  learning  fine  manners. 

"I  am  very  weak  yet,  and  I  have  had  to 
rest  two  or  three  times  while  writing  this 
short  letter. 

"Your  affectionate  brother, 

"GEORGE." 


142  IRVINGTON   STORIES. 

The  "wedding"  took  place  early  in  Octo 
ber.  It  was  a  very  quiet  affair ;  but  the 
cottage  was  sunny  and  pleasant ;  and,  better 
still,  the  guests,  one  and  all,  were  bound  to 
gether  by  love  and  good-will.  Lucy  and 
Captain  Warner  played  a  very  important  part 
in  the  performances.  She  looked  very  bright 
and  happy.  He  looked  happy,  too  ;  but  he 
was  very  pale,  because,  poor  fellow !  he  had 
just  passed  through  such  a  terrible  illness. 
Indeed,  if  he  had  not  been  sent  home  for  care 
and  tender  nursing,  he  probably  would  never 
have  lived  to  stand  beside  Lucy  in  the  pretty 
cottage. 

Captain  George  was  there,  too,  arrayed  in 
a  bran-new  suit  of  clothes — bought  especially 
for  the  occasion.-  He  was  perched  upon  the 
sofa,  and  near  him,  leaning  against  it,  were  a 
pair  of  crutches.  No  one  felt  very  badly 
about  them,  however,  for  George  had  brought 
an  encouraging  letter  from  his  old  friend,  the 
surgeon,  saying,  that  the  crutches  were  only 
temporary  affairs  in  this  case ;  and  if  his 
patient  behaved  himself,  and  obeyed  orders, 
he  might  play  leap-frog  yet  with  any  boy  in 
town. 


THE   DKUMMEK-BOY.  143 

Mrs.  Benson  was  a  proud  mother  that  day, 
and  Sandy  was  a  very  happy  and  delighted 
little  brother,  for  a  box  had  arrived  at  noon, 
by  express,  addressed,  in  grand  style,  to 
"  G.  Benson  ;"  and  in  the  box  was  a  superb 
gold-handled  sword. 

The  sword  was  in  a  beautiful  new  scab 
bard  ;  and  on  the  scabbard  were  engraved 
these  words  : 

" PRESENTED   TO 

GEORGE    BENSON, 

THE   HONEST   AND   BRAYE   DRUMMER-BOY, 
BY   His   GENERAL." 


THE    GOIDEN    GATE 

A    LEGEND. 


ONCE  upon  a  time  there  were  two  little  girls 
living  within  a  quarter  of  a  mile  of  each 
other,  in  an  old  German  city.  They  were  of 
the  same  age,  and  Iboth  had  golden  hair  and 
eyes  as  blue  as  the  summer's  sky.  Pleeta's 
hair  hung  in  glossy  curls,  and,  when  she  was 
in  a  good  humor,  the  blue  sky  in  her  eyes 
fairly  sparkled  with  light.  Gretchen's  hair, 
on  the  contrary,  cropped  out  in  short,  une 
qual  lengths  from  under  her  close-fitting  cap, 
and  the  blue  beneath  her  lashes  was  dimmed 
by  suffering  and  care.  Fleeta  was  rich  ;  she 
dwelt  in  a  beautiful  house,  was  idolized  by 
her  parents,  and  gratified  in  every  whim. 
Gretchen  was  poor,  lived  alone  with  her  in 
valid  mother  in  a  bare  garret,  and  knew  not 


THE   GOLDEX   GATE.  145 

the  meaning  of  play.  Fleeta  had  exquisite 
toys  in  abundance,  and  great  big  dolls  with 
real,  flaxen  hair,  dressed  in  gay  silks,  span 
gled  with  silver  and  gold.  She  was  often 
taken  to  grand  concerts,  and  many  a  time  the 
rarest  music  floated  through  her  father1  s  house. 
Then  she  had  beautiful  clothes,  and,  for  a 
pet,  the  loveliest  little  white  dog  in  the 
world,  which  she  led  by  a  bright  ribbon  fas 
tened  around  its  neck.  Sometimes  the  little 
fellow  would  wish  to  lie  still,  for  Fleeta  gave 
it  so  much  cake  and  sugar  that  it  grew  fat  and 
lazy  ;  but  she  would  jerk  him  and  make  him 
follow  her,  for  was  he  not  licr  dog?  And  if 
the  ribbon  choked  him,  it  certainly  was  his 
own  fault. 

Now  Gretchen  had  only  a  wooden  doll  which 
she  had  picked  up  in  the  street.  It  had  no 
flaxen  hair,  for  the  simple  reason  that  its 
head  was  off  when  she  found  it ;  and  no  fine 
spangled  dresses  either,  for  it  had  come  into 
her  possession  naked ;  and  naked  it  always 
remained,  except  when,  on  bitter  cold  nights, 
she  would  press  it  closely  to  her,  as  she  lay 
on  her  straw  in  the  corner,  and  wind  her  scan 
ty  covering  about  its  stiff  little  limbs.  Her 
10 


146  IKVINGTON   STORIES. 

music,  on  week-days,  came  from  a  strange 
square  box,  which  she  sometimes  met  with  in 
the  street.  A  sick  man  with  a  long  beard 
would  turn  its  handle,  and  straightway  the 
sounds  came  pouring  out  of  it.  If  it  hap 
pened  to  be  near  Fleeta'  s  window,  she  would 
shudder  at  the  "horrid  noise,"  and  beg  her 
maid  to  close  the  sash ;  but  Gretclien  would 
listen  to  it  with  parted  lips,  sure  that  some 
blessed  spirit  was  within  trying  to  make  itself 
known.  Sometimes  the  box  would  be  large 
and  high,  and  in  its  upper  portion  she  could 
see  stiff  little  men  and  women  bobbing  up  and 
down  toward  each  other,  or  turning  solemnly 
to  the  music,  in  a  measured  waltz. 

On  such  occasions,  Gretchen  felt  herself  to 
be  among  the  favored  of  the  earth  ;  and  when 
the  organ-man  had  walked  away  further  than 
she  dared  follow,  she  would  run  up  the  rickety 
stairs  to  describe  to  her  mother  all  she  had 
heard  and  seen.  Then  the  poor,  worn  woman 
would  smile  faintly,  and  for  awhile  cease  to 
drop  tears  upon  her  needle-work. 

Gretchen' s  clothes,  unlike  Fleeta' s,  were 
scanty,  and  of  the  coarsest  stuffs ;  and  for  a 
pet  she  had  only  a  poor  lame  kitten,  which 


THE   GOLDEN   GATE.  147 

she  had  rescued  from  some  cruel  boys.  The 
kitten,  weak  and  half-starved  as  it  was,  need 
ed  no  bright  ribbon  to  make  it  follow  her  ;  she 
led  it  by  the  cord  of  kindness,  and  though 
poor  pussy  often  had  only  a  soft  caress  and  a 
gentle  word  for  its  supper,  it  knew  well  enough 
at  such  times  that  Grctclien's  own  porringer 
must  be  empty  also. 

Fleeta  had  troops  of  friends,  and  often  went 
to  gay  parties,  where  the  girls  danced  grace 
fully,  and  swung  their  beautiful  dresses  dainti 
ly,  and  felt  quite  like  little  women  ;  where  the 
boys  bowed  like  princes,  and  slipped  pretty 
confections  or  flowers  into  the  hands  of  the 
maidens  they  liked  best ;  and  where  brilliant 
lights  and  gay  music  kept  the  party  awake 
long  after  their  young  eyes  should  have  been 
closed  in  sleepj  On  the  other  hand,  Gretchen'  s 
friends,  alas  !  were  few.  Her  companions  were 
the  children  of  the  street,  whose  wicked  words 
often  made  her  tremble,  though  she  would 
sometimes  wind  her  thin  arm  about  some  tat 
tered  little  shoulder,  and  whisper  that  it  was 
wicked  to  swear,  and  that  mother  said  God 
wanted  everybody  to  be  gentle  and  good. 

Both  of  the  little  girls  had  heard  the  blessed 


148  IRVINGTON   STORIES. 

lesson  which  the  Son  of  God  taught,  and  is 
ever  teaching,  to  the  sons  of  men.  There  are 
no  "rich"  and  "poor"  in  his  school,  and 
whether  Fleeta  was  shown  in  her  gilded  Bible 
the  words,  " Thy  will  "be  done,"  or  "Love  one 
another,"  or  Gretchen  heard  them  from  her 
mother's  lips,  the  lesson  was  the  same.  The 
same,  yet  not  the  same ;  for  with  Fleeta,  the 
words  entered  no  further  than  her  eye  or 
ear,  while  Gretchen' s  heart  opened  to  receive 
them,  and  they  nestled  there,  and  grew  until 
her  poor  life  was  glorified  by  their  radiance. 
They  taught  her  not  to  murmur  at  her  lot ; 
to  take  cheerfully  the  few  joys  that  were 
given  her  ;  to  toil  patiently ;  and  in  hunger 
and  cold,  in  hardship  and  suffering,  to  kiss 
the  Hand  which  was  still  steadily  leading  her 
onward. 

No  harsh,  unkind  word  ever  fell  from 
Gretchen' s  lips ;  and  on  fair-days,  when  she 
stood  in  the  market-place  selling,  or  try 
ing  to  sell,  her  mother's  knitting  and  needle 
work,  her  voice  was  as  gentle  and  cheerful  at 
the  close  of  the  day  as  in  its  beginning,  how 
ever  wearied  she  might  be. 

Sometimes  when  trudging  through  the  long 


THE   GOLDEN   GATE.  149 

streets,  with  lier  basket  hanging  on  her  arm, 
or  balanced  upon  her  head,  she  would  pause 
to  soothe  some  poor  fretted  child,  or  aid  an 
other  in  carrying  a  heavy  burden,  or  help  a 
blind  man  over  the  crossings,  or  pick  up  and 
restore  the  fallen  fruit  of  the  old  woman  who 
sold  plums  and  cabbages  at  the  corner. 

But  the  duty  she  loved  best  was  aiding 
her  mother,  who  was  often  too  sick  to 
work,  or  in  helping  the  poor  little  lame 
girl,  who  lived  in  the  room  below,  to  go 
down  the  broken  stairway  and  breathe  the 
air  and  sunshine  of  the  street.  This  poor 
little  cripple  loved  her,  and  well  she  might, 
for  Gretchen'  s  cheerful  words  and  gentle  arm 
were  the  joy  of  her  life,  and  since  that  sweet 
face  had  lit  up  the  old  garret,  had  not  the 
boys  in  the  street  ceased  to  mock  her  and 
call  her  "  little  broken-back  i" 

Yes,  Gretchen  had  friends,  after  all,  besides 
her  mother  and  the  lame  girl  and  the  kitten, 
but  cold  and  hunger  and  rough  usage  had 
made  their  ways  uncouth  and  distant,  and 
their  dingy  rags  might  have  soiled  Fleeta's 
beautiful  garments  had  they  chanced  to  brush 
past  her  in  the  street. 


150  IRVINGTON   STOKIES. 

Fleeta's  days  were  not  spent  half  as  wisely 
or  usefully  as  Gretchen'  s.  They  were  often 
marred  either  by  discontented  repinings  after 
pleasures  beyond  her  reach,  or  by  her  pride 
and  unkindness  of  heart. 

Even  those  who  loved  her  most  would 
sometimes  shake  their  heads  sadly  and  say, 
"Ah  !  Fleeta,  why  not  be  happy  and  good  ? 
Thou  hast  nothing  to  make  thee  otherwise." 
But  the  wilful  girl  would  generally  make 
some  angry  reply,  or  burst  into  a  passionate 
fit  of  crying,  and  declare  that  there  never  was 
a  girl  more  ill-used  or  scolded  than  herself. 

Her  little  brothers  and  sisters  looked  in  vain 
to  her  for  amusement  or  gentle  counsel,  though 
in  her  own  selfish  way  she  would  play  with 
them  as  long  as  lier  will  and  7ier  pleasure  were 
allowed  to  rule. 

She  would  sometimes,  it  is  true,  throw  her 
arms  around  her  mother' s  neck  and  kiss  her 
with  some  show  of  affection,  when  a  new  toy 
or  longed-for  pleasure  awaited  her,  though  the 
same  mother  had  perhaps  a  moment  before 
been  grieved  by  her  sulkiness  or  fits  of 
passion.  On  Sundays,  too,  she  would  drop 
the  silver  into  the  poor-box  with  her  pretty 


THE   GOLDEN    GATE.  151 

little  fingers  in  such  a  dainty  way,  that  her 
aunt  said  it  would  do  any  one' s  heart  good  to 
see  her.  But,  for  all  that,  the  ulove  one 
another1 '  had  not  yet  entered  her  heart. 

She  was  exacting  and  thoughtless  toward  all 
her  playmates  ;  and  as  for  poor  children,  she 
had  no  pity  nor  kindness  for  them  at  all.  To 
her  eyes  they  were  all  only  ragged  or  dirty 
or  vulgar  ;  and  she  quite  forgot  that  human 
hearts  "beat  as  strongly  in  their  little  human 
bodies  as  in  her  own.  Money  was  to  her  the 
great  good  of  life  ;  and  she  was  proud  of  her 
wealth,  not  because  it  gave  her  the  means  of 
making  others  better  or  happier,  but  because 
it  made  her,  as  she  foolishly  supposed,  of 
more  consequence  than  the  poorer  people 
about  her. 

Fleeta's  maid  was  a  second  cousin  to 
Gretchen's  mother,  and  she  would  sometimes 
find  her  way  to  the  garret  where  her  kins 
woman  lived,  and  startle  her  listeners  with 
glowing  accounts  of  all  that  was  going  on  at 
her  master's  house.  She  would  tell  of  the 
splendid  balls  and  feasts  held  there,  how  the 
ladies  and  gentlemen  sparkled  with  dia 
monds,  and  how  the  room  seemed  alive  more 


152  IRVINGTON   STOEIES. 

with,  velvets  and  satins  and  flowers  and 
jewels  and  perfumes  than  with  human  beings, 
and  how  lovely  Miss  Fleeta  looked  in  her 
ball-dress— "just  like  a  cloud  of  lace  and 
gauze  ;"  and  how,  above  all,  the  little  girl 
had  been  "  fairly  loaded  with  gifts  on  Christ 
mas  Eve,  and  the  other  children  too — though 
Fleeta  had  the  most." 

"  If  you  had  seen  the  tree,  Katrine,"  she 
said  one  day  to  Gretchen's  mother,  "you'd 
have  remembered  it  all  your  days.  There  the 
grand  company  all  stood,  Miss  Fleeta  first, 
and  I  holding  her  by  the  hand  so  as  to  make 
her  wait  till  the  Christ- child,  you  know, 
Gretchen,  lit  the  candles  and  rang  the  little 
bell.  At  last  we  heard  it  ring,  and  the  doors 
opened  and  the  company  all  crowded  in,  Miss 
Fleeta  springing  away  from  me  in  an  instant, 
leaving  me  there  alone  among  all  the  fine 
ladies— 

' '  But  the  tree  ?' '  interrupted  Gretchen 
breathlessly. 

"Oh!  it  was  beautiful;  all  lit  up  with 
thousands  of  little  lights  and  sparkling  with 
colored  glass  balls.  Every  branch  was  hung 
full  of  the  loveliest  things,  and  on  the  top  of 


THE   GOLDEX    GATE.  153 

it  was  a  tiny  angel  in  gold  and  silver,  with 
such  pretty  wings— 

"  A  real  angel,  Lena  ?" 

i  i  No,  no  ;  and  then  down  in  the  moss  under 
the  tree  there  was  an  image  of  the  Christ- 
child  made  of  wax,  but  just  for  all  the  world 
like  a  beautiful  baby,  with  lambs  standing 
'round  him." 

Gretchen  listened  with  sparkling  eyes  and 
head  bent  eagerly  forward  as  Lena  talked  on. 

"And  oh!  you  should  have  seen  the 
things— such  heaps  of  presents,  all  the  tables 
about  were  covered  !  Miss  Fleeta  had  rings 
and  bracelets  and  chains  and  books  and  dolls 
and  a  play-house  with  little  mirrors  in  it,  full 
of  the  loveliest  furniture,  and  little  doll-ladies 
standing  in  it,  and  sitting  as  natural  as  life. 
And  then  there  were  china  cups  and  saucers, 
and  a  little  gold  goblet  and  pitcher,  and  a  big 
box  full  of  wild  animals  that  would  have 
stood  your  hair  on  end  to  see  them— 

"Oh!"  exclaimed  Gretchen,  starting, 
' '  were  they  alive  rC ' 

"No,  no,  you  foolish  little  one,"  said  the 
maid,  "they  were  not  a  bit  bigger  than  your 
kitten  there.  And  near  the  tree  there  was  a 


154  IRVINGTOX   STORIES. 

new  chair  all  of  carved  wood  and  red  velvet, 
just  big  enough  for  Miss  Fleeta  ;  and  a  danc 
ing  man  worked  by  machinery,  and  dozens 
of  other  things." 

"And  what  did  the  other  children  get?" 
asked  Gretchen,  delighted. 

' '  Oh,  I  haven' t  time  to  tell  you  half ; 
there  were  drums  and  trumpets  and  whips 
and  shops  and  tools  and  drawing-books  and 
violins  and  villages,  for  the  boys  ;  and  horses 
on  rockers  as  big  as  live  ponies,  and  lots  of 
things  for  all,  down  to  the  baby.  Even  we 
servants  got  something,  and  I've  a  present 
for  you,  too,  Gretchen,"  added  the  maid, 
quite  out  of  breath,  as  she  drew  something 
from  her  pocket. 

It  was  a  pretty  blue-and-gilt  bonbon  box 
filled  with  candies. 

"  Oh  !  Lena,  thank  you  !  thank  you  !"  cried 
Gretchen,  as  she  eagerly  received  her  treas 
ure.  "  Oh  !  see,  mother,  how  beautiful !  Did 
the  Christ-child  send  it  to  me,  Lena  f ' 

Lena  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then  said, 
u  Yes,  certainly  he  did,  as  much  as  to  any  of 
the  other  children." 

Gretchen  insisted  upon  her  mother  and  Lena 


THE   GOLDEX   GATE.  155 

tasting  some  of  her  candies,  and  then  ran  down 
the  stairs  in  great  glee  to  give  a  share  to  the 
little  lame  girl. 

"  Bless  her,"  said  Lena  to  the  mother,  "  she 
hasn't  any  more  envy  than  a  baby.  Now,  do 
you  know,  with  all  these  things,  Miss  Fleeta 
cried  herself  to  sleep  on  Christmas  Eve  be 
cause  her  sister's  new  wax  doll  opened  its 
eyes  the  widest  ?  I  declare,  Katrine,  my  back 
aches  from  sitting  so  long  on  this  box.  It' s  a 
shame  you're  not  able  to  have  things  more 
comfortable,  and  you  so  sickly,  too.  But  Hans 
and  I  are  going  to  get  married  next  month, 
and  after  that,  you  know,  you  are  always  to 
have  a  home  with  us,  for  didn't  your  mother 
nurse  mine  in  her  last  long  sickness,  and  close 
her  poor  eyes,  may  God  bless  her  soul !" 

At  this  moment  Gretchen  came  running  up 
the  stairs. 

"Oh,  Lena,  there  was  a  beautiful  sugar 
strawberry  in  the  box,  and  I  gave  it  to  Bertha, 
You  ought  to  have  heard  her  laugh.  Oh  ! 
how  good  the  Christ-child  is  !  Do  you  know 
I  dreamed,  one  night,  that  he  came  to  see  me, 
and  put  his  arms  around  my  neck,  and  prom 
ised  to  bring  me  something  on  Christmas  Eve ; 


156  IKVINGTON   STOEIES. 

and  when  I  woke  up,  there  pussy  had  been 
lying  all  the  time  close  by  my  head." 

"That  was  a  fine  dream,"  said  Lena,  "but, 
bless  me  !  how  late  it  is  growing,  and  I  have 
to  curl  Miss  Fleeta' s  hair  yet  for  supper. 
Good-by!" 

And  this  was  the  way  that  the  two  children, 
Gretchen  and  Fleeta,  lived  and  felt  in  the 
great  German  city.  They  seldom  met  each 
other,  and  when  they  did,  Fleeta  would  turn 
her  head  haughtily  away  from  "the  forlorn, 
ragged  little  thing, ' '  and  Gretchen  would  look 
eagerly  after  her  in  simple  admiration  of  the 
beautiful  little  lady  with  the  golden  curls. 

The  time  came  soon,  however,  when  the  two 
girls  could  no  longer  pass  each  other  in  the 
"busy  street.  It  so  happened  that  a  few  weeks 
after  Christmas,  a  fearful  disease  appeared 
among  the  children  of  the  town ;  and  on  the 
self- same  day  two  little  graves  were  dug  ;  one 
in  a  beautiful  cemetery  where  the  tall,  white 
monuments  glistened  in  the  sunlight,  and  the 
other  where  plain  headstones  and  grass-grown 
mounds  were  all  that  could  be  seen. 

In  one  grave  was  placed  a  rosewood  coffin, 


THE   GOLDEN   GATE.  167 

garlanded  with  flowers  and  bound  with  mas 
sive  silver.  It  was  borne  to  the  spot  by  a 
procession  of  young  girls  clothed  in  white,  fol 
lowed  by  grand  carriages  filled  with  weeping 
relatives  and  friends,  who  gathered  mournful 
ly  around  while  the  solemn  funeral  rites  were 
performed. 

Into  the  other  grave  a  plain  wooden  coffin 
was  lowered,  and  the  hurried  burial  service 
pronounced  over  it  was  broken  by  the  sobs  of 
the  sole  mourners — a  pale  careworn  woman, 
accompanied  by  three  or  four  frightened-look 
ing  children,  barefooted  and  capless,  and  a 
lame  girl  holding  a  kitten  in  her  arms. 

Even  then  the  two  children,  Gretchen  and 
Fleeta,  were  walking  side  by  side  up  the  lanes 
of  Paradise.  The  cruel  disease  was  forgotten  ; 
and,  free  from  languor  or  suffering,  they  trod 
the  pearly  path,  with  eyes  eagerly  fixed  upon 
what  seemed  a  cloud  of  glorious  light  in  the 
distance.  At  length,  as  they  drew  nearer, 
they  found  themselves  in  front  of  a  golden 
gate,  around  which  a  rosy  light  played  arid 
trembled,  while  from  within  soft  music  seemed 
pressing  against  it,  causing  it  to  vibrate  in 
sweet  accord. 


158  IKVINGTON   STORIES. 

Gretchen  drew  back  awed  and  bewildered 
by  the  flood  of  dazzling  light  which  streamed 
upon  her  ;  but  Fleeta  approached  boldly, 
casting  a  look  of  scorn  upon  Gretchen  as  she 
passed.  What  was  the  gate  to  Fleeta' s  eyes, 
after  all,  but  gold ;  and  had  she  not  always 
been  used  to  gold?  Music,  too,  had  ever 
been  as  her  daily  food,  though  this  music  in 
deed  disturbed  her  strangely.  Surely  this 
gate  was  for  the  rich,  the  honored  of  earth ; 
and  was  she  not  one  of  them?  So  she 
knocked  confidently ;  while  poor  Gretchen, 
feeling  unworthy,  drew  timidly  aside,  though 
the  golden  light  streamed  upon  her  which 
ever  way  she  turned. 

"Stand  back,  little  beggar-girl!"  said 
Fleeta;  "do  you  not  see  that  the  gate  can 
open  only  for  such  as  I?"  and  she  knocked 
again  more  impatiently  than  before. 

At  last,  as  though  the  music  could  be  con 
tained  within  no  longer,  the  golden  portal 
opened,  and  a  shining  angel  stood  before 
them. 

Fleeta  would  have  pushed  in  past  him, 
but,  with  a  firm  hand,  he  gently  forced  her 
back. 


THE   GOLDEN    GATE.  159 

"Why  do  you  knock  at  this  gate?"  he 
asked  ;  "only  the  truly  rich  can  enter  here." 

"Let  me  go  in,  then,"  replied  the  girl,  "/ 
am  rich/"  and  she  cast  back  a  look  of  tri 
umph  upon  poor  Gretchen. 

"Well,"  returned  the  angel,  "if  you  are 
rich  you  shall  enter ;  but  where  are  your 
riches  T ' 

' '  My  riches !"  exclaimed  Fleeta,  ' '  why,  they 
are  down  in  the  world  ;  father  and  mother 
have  them  now  ;  but  they  used  to  be  mine." 

.  "But,"  re  turned  the  angel,  pityingly,  "what 
have  you  brought  with  you  ?  I  must  see  your 
treasures  before  you  can  enter." 

Fleeta  hung  her  head. 

Then  the  angel  turned  to  the  other  child,  and 
said  kindly, 

"  Why  do  you  not  arise  and  enter  ?" 

"Alas!"  replied  Gretchen,  "I  have  no 
treasures.  I  have  always  been  very  poor,  so 
I  cannot  enter  the  gate  of  the  rich." 

"Poor!"  exclaimed  the  angel,  "where  is 
your  poverty  V ' 

"I  left  it  upon  the  earth,"  said  Gretchen, 
brightening  with  a  sudden  hope. 

' '  And  have  you  brought  nothing  with  you  V ' 


160  IRVINGTON   STORIES. 

•"Nothing,  nothing  at  all,"  rejoined  the 
child  sadly ;  "but,"  she  added  earnestly,  "I 
am  willing  to  wait,  for  I  know  that  the  dear 
Lord  Jesus  will  yet  send  his  angel  for  me." 

"He  lias  sent  his  angel,"  said  the  gate 
keeper,  "  and  this  is  the  portal  through  which 
you  are  to  enter  ;  for  your  soul,  though  you 
know  it  not,  is  laden  with  treasures ;"  and, 
with  these  words,  he  gently  drew  the  child  in 
and  closed  the  gate. 

And  so  the  poor  little  "rich  girl,"  who  had 
misspent  her  earthly  blessings  and  brought 
no  treasures,  was  forced  to  remain  outside. 


PO-NO-KAH, 

AN     INDIAN     TALE 


I. 
THE     II  E  D  D  E  N     FAMILY. 

WE  who  live  in  comfortable  homes,  secure 
from  every  invader  more  formidable 
than  mice,  flies,  and  mosquitoes,  find  it  diffi 
cult  to  conceive  the  trials  that  beset  the  hardy 
pioneers  who  settled  our  Western  country 
during  the  last  century. 

In  those  days,  and  foj  many  a  year  after 
ward,  hostile  Indians  swarmed  in  every  di 
rection.  Often-times  did  the  settler,  after 
cheerfully  leaving  home  in  the  morning  for  a 
day's  hunt,  return  at  night  to  find  his  family 
murdered  or  captured,  and  his  cabin  a  mass  of 
smoking  ruins.  Only  in  the  comparatively 
crowded  settlements,  where,  as  in  every  thing 


1G.2  IRV1NGTON   STORIES. 

else,  u  union  proved  strength,"  could  the 
white  inhabitants  hope  for  security — though 
bought  at  the  price  of  constant  vigilance  and 
precaution. 

In  one  of  these  settlements,  where  neatly 
white  washed  cabins,  and  rougher  log  huts, 
clustered  rather  thickly  on  the  banks  of  a 
bend  in  the  Ohio  River,  dwelt  a  man  named 
Iledden,  with  his  wife  and  three  children. 
His  farm  stretched  farther  into  the  wilder 
ness  than  his  neighbors',  for  his  had  been 
one  of  the  first  cabins  built  there,  and  his  axe, 
ringing  merrily  through  the  long  days,  had 
hewed  down  an  opening  in  the  forest,  after 
ward  famous  in  that  locality  as  "Neighbor 
Hedden's  Clearing."  Here  he  planted  and 
gathered  his  crops  year  after  year  ;  and  in 
spite  of  annoyances  from  the  Indians,  who 
robbed  his  fields,  and  from  bears,  who  some 
times  visited  his  farm  stock,  his  family  had 
lived  in  security  so  long  that,  as  the  settle 
ment  grew,  his  wife  sang  at  her  work,  and  his 
little  ones  shouted  at  their  play  as  merrily  as 
though  New  York  or  Boston  were  within  a 
stone's  throw.  To  be  sure,  the  children  were 
bidden  to  never  stray  far  from  home,  especially 


PO-NO-KAII.  163 

at  nightfall ;  and  the  crack  of  rifles  ringing  now 
and  then  through  the  forest  piled  their  cheeks 
for  an  instant,  as  the  thought  of  some  shaggy 
bear,  furious  in  his  death  agony,  crossed  their 
minds. 

Sometimes,  too,  the  children  would  whisper 
together  of  the  fate  of  poor  little  Annie  Green, 
who,  a  few  years  ago,  had  been  found  scalped 
in  the  forest ;  or  their  mother  would  tell 
them,  with  pale  lips,  of  the  dreadful  night 
when  father  and  neighbor  Freeman  encoun 
tered  two  painted  Indians  near  the  cabin,  and 
left  them  lying  dead  upon  the  stubble-ground. 
The  tomahawk  of  the  Indian  their  father 
killed  was  still  hanging  upon  the  cabin  wall, 
and  the  children  could  never  look  at  it  with 
out  a  shudder. 

But  all  this  had  happened  twelve  years 
ago — before  Bessie,  the  oldest  girl,  was 
born — and  seemed  to  the  children's  minds 
like  a  bit  of  ancient  histoiy — almost  as  far 
off  as  the  exploits  of  Hannibal  or  Julius 
Caesar  appear  to  us.  So,  as  I  have  said,  the 
children  of  the  settlement  shouted  joyously 
at  their  play,  or  ran  in  merry  groups  to  the 
rough  log  hut,  called  "  The  School-House," 


164  IRVINGTON   STOKIES. 

little  dreaming  of  the  cares  and  anxieties  of 
their  elders. 

Bessie  Hedden  was  a  merry-hearted  crea 
ture,  and  so  pretty  that,  had  she  been  an 
Indian  maiden,  she  would  have  been  called 
"  WildEose,"  or  " Singing  Bird,"  or  "Water 
Lily,"  or  some  such  name.  As  it  was, 
half  the  village  called  her  "  Sunshine,"  for 
her  joyous  spirit  could  light  up  the  darkest 
corner.  She  was  faithful  at  school,  affection 
ate  and  industrious  at  home,  and  joyous  and 
honorable  among  her  playmates.  What 
wonder,  then,  that  everybody  loved  her,  or 
that  she  was  happiest  among  the  happy? 
Her  brother  Rudolph  was  much  younger 
than  she — a  rosy-cheeked,  strong-armed  little 
urchin  of  seven  years  ;  and  Kitty,  the  last 
and  least  of  the  Heddens,  was  but  three  years 
of  age  at  the  date  at  which  my  story  opens. 

There  was  one  other  individual  belonging 
to  the  family  circle,  larger  even  than  Bessie, 
stronger  and  saucier  even  than  Rudolph, 
and  yet  younger  than  Kitty — who  ate  more 
than  father  and  mother  together  —  had  no 
hands,  yet  once  did,  as  all  admitted,  the  best 
day's  work  ever  performed  by  any  member 


PO-NO-KAH.  165 

of  the  family.  This  individual's  name  was 
Bouncer,  and  he  had  a  way  of  walking  about 
on  all-fours,  and  barking — probably  in  con 
sequence  of  his  having  been  created  a  dog. 

Bouncer  loved  all  the  children  dearly  ;  but, 
noble-hearted  fellow  that  he  was,  he  loved  the 
weakest  one  best ;  and,  therefore,  little  Kitty 
was  never  without  a  friend  and  protector. 
Ever  since  a  certain  day  in  the  Summer, 
when  she  had  fallen  into  the  stream,  and  been 
carried  home  insensible  by  Bouncer,  Kitty 
had  loved  the  huge  mastiff  dearly,  and 
nightly  added  to  her  simple  prayer,  "  Please, 
God,  bless  dear  Bouncer,  too  !" 

And  Bouncer  was  blessed  beyond  most 
dogs.  Gentle  as  a  baby  when  Kitty's  arm 
was  about  his  neck,  he  was  fierce  as  a  lion 
when  fierceness  was  required.  His  great 
white  teeth  were  a  terror  to  evil  doers,  and 
his  bark  in  the  dead  of  night  would  make 
venturesome  bears  sneak  back  into  the  forest 
like  kittens. 

Often  would  Mrs.  Hedden  say  to  her  neigh 
bors,  that  with  "husband's  rifle  and  Boun 
cer's  teeth,  she  felt  that  she  lived  in  a  fort 
ress.  As  for  the  children,"  she  would  add, 


166  IEVINGTON   STORIES. 

laughingly,  "  I  scarcely  ever  feel  any  anxiety 
about  them,  when  I  know  that  Bouncer  has 
joined  their  little  expeditions.  He  is  a  regi 
ment  in  himself." 


II. 

EXPLORING    THE     STREAM. 

ONE  of  the  favorite  holiday  resorts  of 
Bessie  and  Rudolph  was  a  lovely  spot 
in  the  forest,  not  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  the 
house. 

Shaded  by  giant  oaks,  whose  gnarled  roots 
lay  like  serpents,  half  hidden  in  the  moss, 
ran  a  streamlet,  covered  with  sunny  speckles, 
where  parted  leaves  admitted  the  sunshine. 
Flowers  grew  along  its  "banks  in  wild  profu 
sion,  and  it  held  its  wayward  course  with 
many  a  rippling  fall  and  fantastic  turn,  until  it 
was  lost  in  the  shades  of  the  forest. 

" Where  does  it  go  to,  I  wonder?"  the 
children  would  often  say  to  each  other,  long 
ing  for  permission  to  follow  its  windings 
farther  than  the  limits  prescribed  by  their 
parents  would  allow. 


PO-XO-KAH.  167 

"  To  the  ocean,  of  course,"  Rudolph  would 
answer,  triumphantly  ;  while  Bessie,  looking 
at  its  golden  ripple,  and  listening  to  its 
musical  song,  half  believed  that  it  carried 
its  burden  of  sparkling  jewels  to  Fairyland 
itself. 

Sometimes,  when.  Bouncer  was  with  them, 
they  lingered  so  long  by  the  mysterious  stream 
let,  sending  chip  boats  adrift  upon  its  surface, 
or  trying  to  adjust  troublesome  little  water- 
wheels  under  some  of  its  tiny  cascades,  that 
Mrs.  Hedden  would  blow  the  big  horn  as  a 
signal  for  their  return  ;  and  as  they  ran  home, 
playing  with  Bouncer  by  the  way,  or  scold 
ing  him  for  shaking  his  wet  sides  under  their 
very  faces,  they  would  inwardly  resolve  to 
coax  father  to  take  them  up  the  stream  on  the 
very  first  pleasant  Saturday. 

Accordingly,  on  one  bright  Friday  in  June, 
as  Bessie  and  Rudolph  returned  from  school 
together,  they  ran  toward  their  father,  who 
was  working  in  the  lot. 

"Father!  father!"  they  shouted,  "will 
you  take  us  down  the  stream  to-morrow  ?— 
we  want  to  see  where  it  goes  to." 

"Goes    toT     laughed    back    the    father. 


168  IKVINGTOK   STOKIES. 

"  Why,  it  goes  to  the  moon  ;  didn't  Kitty  say 
so  last  night?" 

"  Now,  father,"  returned  Bessie,  pouting 
just  a  little,  "you  know  we  don't  "believe 
that.  We  want  you  so  much  to  take  us  in 
the  "boat ;  it  don't  leak  at  all  now — oh  !  do." 
And  both  children  fairly  jumped  up  and 
down  in  their  excitement. 

Mr.  Hedden  smiled  ;  but,  after  wiping  his 
forehead  with  a  red  and  yellow  handkerchief, 
went  on  with  his  work  without  returning  any 
answer. 

The  children,  looking  wistfully  at  him  a 
moment,  turned  toward  the  house,  wondering 
between  each  other  "  what  father  meant  to  do 
about  it." 

That  evening,  at  the  supper-table  (where 
they  didn't  have  napkin  rings  or  silver  salt 
cellars,  I  can  assure  you),  Mr.  Hedden  asked 
his  wife  whether  Tom  Hennessy  was  back 
from  ' '  up  river' '  yet  ? 

"I  think  he  came  home  yesterday,"  re 
turned  his  wife.  "  Why  do  you  ask  ?" 

"Because  I  thought,  as  to-morrow' 11  be  a 
holiday,  I'd  get  him  to  take  the  youngsters 
down  the  stream  in  the  SCOAV." 


PO-NO-KAH.  109 

"  Oil !  husband,"  rejoined  Mrs.  Hedden, 
looking  up  anxiously,  "  do  you  think  it's 
safe?" 

"  Why  not,  Betsey  ? — the  scow  don't  leak  ; 
and  even  if  it  did,  the  water  isn't  above  Tom's 
waist  anywhere." 

"  I  don't  mean  any  thing  of  that  kind,"  pur 
sued  the  wife,  smiling  in  spite  of  herself  at 
the  joyful  faces  of  the  young  folks.  "I — I 
mean  the  Indians." 

i  i  Oh,  never  fear  about  them — I'  11  give  Tom 
every  necessary  caution,"  was  the  answer. 
"  They  won't  be  gone  more  than  two  hours 
altogether  ;  and,  to  my  mind,  there  wouldn'  t 
be  the  slightest  danger  in  letting  even  little 
Kitty  join  the  party." 

"Oh!  tanky,  Poppy,  tanky !"  shouted 
Kitty,  clapping  her  chubby  hands  in  great 
glee.  Every  one  at  the  table  laughed  heartily 
at  her  unexpected  response. 

Bright  and  early  the  next  morning  the 
children  stood  in  the  door -way,  eagerly 
looking  out  for  Tom.  Big  Tom,  the  vil 
lage  boys  called  him  ;  and  well  they  might, 
for  he  was  a  staunch,  burly  fellow,  who 
looked  as  if  he  could  crush  an  Indian  in  each 


170  IRVINGTON   STORIES. 

hand — not  that  he  had  ever  had  an  opportu 
nity  to  perform  that  remarkable  feat,  for  Tom 
Hennessy  had  but  recently  arrived  from  a 
large  town  in  the  East ;  but  he  looked  as  if 
he  could  do  it ;  and,  therefore,  had  credit  for 
any  amount  of  prowess  and  strength. 

After  sundry  directions  given  by  Mr.  Hed- 
den  to  Tom,  and  a  command  from  their  mother 
for  the  little  folks  to  be  home  at  dinner 
time,  our  party  set  forth  amid  shouts  of 
laughter  and  merriment.  Kitty  was  there  in 
all  her  glory,  for,  after  what  "  Poppy"  had 
said,  she  had  insisted  upon  joining  the 
party.  Even  Bouncer,  in  spite  of  many  a  "  Go 
back,  sir!"  "  Call  him,  mother!"  had  quietly 
insinuated  himself  into  the  midst  of  the 
group,  and  neither  threats  nor  coaxing  could 
force  him  away. 

It  was  a  glorious  day  ;  and,  as  they  neared 
the  stream,  it  seemed  to  sparkle  into  joyous 
welcome  at  their  approach. 

Soon,  comfortably  seated  in  the  scow,  they 
were  pushed  and  rowed  laboriously  along  by 
the  good-natured  Tom,  while  Bouncer  panted 
along  the  bank,  or  dashed  into  the  water, 
splashing  the  boat  in  fine  style.  In  passing 


PO-NO-KATI.  171 

the  accustomed  "limits,"  the  delight  of  the 
children  knew  no  Ibounds. 

"Now  for  it!"  cried  Bessie,  clapping  her 
hands.  "Now  we  shall  find  out  where  the 
stream  goes  to." 

And  so  they  sailed  along,  following  its 
graceful  windings — sometimes  touching  bot 
tom,  and  sometimes  skimming  smoothly  over 
deep  water,  where  Kitty  could  no  longer 
clutch  for  the  tall,  bright  grass  that  in  some 
places  had  reared  itself  above  the  surface. 
Often  Big  Tom  would  sing  out,  "  Lie  low  !" 
as  some  great  bough,  hanging  over  the  stream, 
seemed  stretching  out  its  arms  to  catch  them ; 
and  often  they  were  nearly  checked  in  their 
course  by  a  fallen  trunk,  or  the  shallowness 
of  the  water.  At  last,  upon  reaching  a  very 
troublesome  spot,  Tom  cried  good-naturedly— 

"Now,  youngsters,  you  must  all  get  out 
while  I  turn  the  scow  over  this  'ere  log,  and 
then  you  can  jump  in  again  on  t'other  side." 

With  merry  shouts  they  leaped  out,  one 
after  the  other,  Tom  holding  Kitty  in  his 
arms,  as  he  stood  knee-deep  in  the  water. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  Bouncer  2"  cried 
Bessie. 


172  IRVINGTON   STORIES. 

There  was  no  time  for  a  reply.  Looking 
up,  the  frightened  party  saw  three  hideous 
faces  peering  at  them  over  the  bushes  ! 

"The  Indians!  the  Indians!"  screamed 
Bessie. 

Springing  to  the  shore,  and  catching  Ru 
dolph  with  one  arm,  while  he  held  Kitty 
tightly  in  the  other,  Tom  Hennessy  dashed 
madly  into  the  forest,  calling  upon  Bessie  to 
follow.  Poor  Bessie  !  What  could  she  do  ? 
With  a  thrill  of  horror  she  saw  two  armed 
savages  "bounding  after  them  with  fearful 
yells,  while  a  third,  with  upraised  club,  and 
tomahawk  and  scalping-knife  in  his  belt,  was 
rushing  like  a  fiend  toward  her. 

Uttering  one  long  piercing  scream,  the  poor 
girl  knelt  upon  the  sward  to  await  her  doom. 
A  prolonged  roar  of  fury  caused  her  to  raise 
her  head.  Bouncer,  brave,  noble  Bouncer, 
and  the  Indian  had  fallen  together  in  a  deadly 
struggle  !  Now  was  her  time  !  With  new 
energy  and  hope  she  sprang  to  her  feet,  and 
darted  through  the  forest,  rending  the  air  with 
cries  for  help,  and  unconscious  of  whither  she 
was  flying. 

"Rudolph!     Kitty!"    she    cried,    frantic- 


PO-XO-KAII.  173 

ally.     "  God  in  lieayen  help  us!     Oil!  help 

us!" 


III. 

WHERE    ARE    THE     CHILDREN? 

IT  was  nearly  dinner-time  in  the  Hedden 
cottage.  Farmer  Hedden  sat  in  the  door 
way,  equipped  in  his  hunting  dress  —  for  he 
generally  spent  his  Saturday  afternoons  in  the 
forest  ;  and  it  was  only  at  his  wife'  s  solicita 
tion  that  he  had  consented  to  wait  and  u  take 
a  "bite  of  dinner"  before  starting.  Every 
now  and  then  he  raised  his  head  from  the 
almanac,  over  which  he  was  bending,  to 
listen  to  the  whirr  of  his  wife's  spinning- 
wheel,  and  her  merry  song  issuing  from  the 
cottage,  or  to  cast  an  impatient  glance  in  the 
direction  of  the  streamlet. 

Within,  all  was  neatness  and  cheerfulness  ; 
the  clean  deal  table  was  arranged  with  its  row 
of  yellow  platters  and  shining  pewter-mugs— 
even  the  stools  were  standing  round  it,  ready 
for  the  hungry  household  that  usually  assem 
bled  at  noon,  eager  for  dinner. 


174  IRVINGTON   STORIES. 

"Father's"  and  "mother's"  places  were 
at  either  end  of  the  table  ;  Rudolph's  and 
Kitty's  at  one  side  (Kitty  had  a  high  chair 
made  by  "father"  out  of  young  oak 
branches) ;  Bessie's  opposite ;  and,  beside 
hers,  the  prettiest  plate  and  the  brightest 
mug  for  Big  Tom — for,  of  course,  he  must  be 
asked  to  stay. 

Every  thing  was  ready.  Far  back  in  the 
open  fire-place  the  fagots  were  blazing  and 
snapping.  Hanging  above  them,  the  great 
iron  pot  threw  forth  a  circle  of  noisy  steam 
around  the  loose  lid,  while  the  potatoes 
within  were  in  a  high  state  of  commotion- 
little  ones  tumbling  pell-mell  over  big  ones, 
and  big  ones  rocking  mournfully  backward 
and  forward  in  the  boiling  water  as  though 
they  felt  sure  their  end  was  approaching. 

"Blow  the  horn  again,  John,"  called  out 
Mrs.  Hedden,  as  she  cut  another  slice  from  the 
big  brown  loaf  that  had  been  rapidly  growing 
less  under  her  shining  knife.  "Ha!  ha! 
they  can't  help  hearing  tliat"  she  laughed, 
as  her  obedient  husband  blew  a  blast  even 
louder  than  usual. 

After  waiting  a  moment,  Mr.  Hedden  came 


PO-KO-KAH.  175 

in,  throwing  the  almanac  on  a  low  wooden 
settee  as  he  entered. 

"No  use  waiting  any  longer,  wifey — let's 
sit  by.  I  don't  see  a  sign  of  the  youngsters  ; 
though  it  did  seem  to  me  I  heard  some  of  'em 
screaming  and  laughing  in  the  distance  a  bit 
ago.  'Twon't  do,  though,"  he  continued, 
shaking  his  head;  "  we  must  make  the  crazy 
little  cubs  mind  the  horn  closer.  Play' s  play, 
and  all  well  enough  in  its  way,  but  you  must 
teach  children  regularity  from  the  very  out 
set,  or  they'll  never  be  good  for  much." 

"That's  true  enough,  John,"  answered  his 
wife,  as  she  "dished"  some  of  the  steaming 
potatoes — leaving  a  goodly  number  in  the  pot 
for  the  little  folk — ' '  that' s  true  enough  ;  but 
you  know  this  is  a  day  of  extra  frolic  for  the 
children.  They're  having  such  fun,  likely, 
they've  no  notion  how  the  time  is  passing. 
As  for  the  horn,  who  could  expect  mortal 
ears  to  hear  that,  with  Bessie  and  Big  Tom 
laughing  and  singing,  and  Rudolph  screaming 
with  fun — as  I  know  he  is  ;  and  little  Kit, 
bless  her  !  just  frantic  with  delight ;  I  think  I 
can  see  them  now,  the  merry  madcaps  !' ' 

Ah !  happy,   unconscious  mother,    if  you 


176  IRVLNGTON    STORIES. 

could  see  them  now — if  their  wails  of  anguish 
could  but  reach  your  ears  ! 

Finally,  neighbor  Hedden  arose,  shoving 
back  his  stool  on  the  sanded  floor. 

' i  Well,  well,  wifey,  you'  re  right  enough, 
no  doubt ;  but  I  tell  you  it  ain't  best  to  be  too 
easy  with  youngsters,  though  ours  are  the 
best  going,  if  I  do  say  it.  A  good  trouncing 
all  around,  when  they  come  in,  wouldn't  be 
a  bit  too  much  for  them  for  being  so  late  ;' ' 
and,  half  in  fun,  half  in  earnest,  he  shook  his 
head  rather  fiercely  at  his  wife,  and  stalked 
out  of  the  cottage. 

Presently  she  laughed  outright  to  hear  the 
loud,  impatient  tones  issuing  from  the  great 
tin  horn. 

"  That'll  fetch  them,  I  reckon,"  said  neigh 
bor  Hedden,  showing  a  smiling  face  at  the 
window,. 

As  another  hour  passed  away,  the  songs 
grew  fewer  and  fainter  upon  the  mother's 
lips — at  first  from  vexation,  and,  finally,  from 
weariness  and  a  vague  feeling  of  anxiety. 

"  Bessie  should  know  better,"  she  thought 
to  herself,  "than  to  stay  so  long.  I  wish  I 
had  not  let  Kitty  go  with  them." 


PO-NO-KAH.  177 

The  next  moment  she  smiled  to  think  how 
hungry  the  children  would  be  when  they  re 
turned,  and  half  wished  that  it  would  not  be 
' '  spoiling' '  them  to  make  them  a  good  sugar- 
cake  for  their  supper. 

Not  until  the  shadows  grew  longer  upon 
the  edge  of  the  forest,  and  threatening  clouds 
grew  thicker  overhead,  did  her  heart  quail  or 
her  cheek  grow  white  with  sudden  fear. 

"Oh!  what  can  keep  them,  I  wonder? 
Why  didn't  I  ask  John  to  go  look  for  them  ?" 
she  asked  herself  over  and  over  again.  But 
Mrs.  Hedden  was  not  one  to  sit  weeping  with 
folded  hands  while  any  thing  remained  to  be 
done. 

It  was  not  long  before  their  nearest  neigh 
bor,  who  was  still  at  work,  enjoying  the 
coolness  of  the  afternoon,  leaned  upon  his 
spade  to  wonder  what  on  earth  neighbor 
Hedden' s  wife  was  up  to  now. 

"Why,  look  there!  Bob,"  he  called  out 
to  his  son,  "if  she  ain't  leaping  over  this 
way  like  a  year-old  colt !" 


In  the  mean  time,  neighbor  Hedden  himself 
12 


178  IKVINGTON   STORIES. 

was  having  but  sorry  sport  in  the  forest.  He 
saw  nothing  worth  even  pointing  his  gun  at, 
and  felt  altogether  so  ill  at  ease  and  so  fidgety 
as  he  trudged  along,  stepping  now  upon  the 
soft  moss,  and  now  upon  fallen  branches  that 
crackled  even  under  the  stealthy  tread  of  his 
hunting  moccasins,  that  I  doubt  whether  half 
the  bears  hidden  in  the  depths  of  the  forest 
were  not  in  a  livelier  mood  than  he.  Not  that 
he  had  any  thing  to  make  him  feel  especially 
ill-humored,  unless  it  was  the  disobedience 
of  his  children  in  having  failed  to  appear  at 
dinner-time — but  it  seemed  to  him  that  there 
was  something  going  wrong  in  the  world, 
some  screw  loose  in  his  affairs  that,  unless  he 
turned  it  tight  in  time,  would  cause  his  happi 
ness  and  the  prosperity  of  his  home  to  fall  in 
ruins  about  him.  After  awhile  this  feeling 
became  so  strong  that  he  seated  himself  down 
upon  a  stone  to  think. 

"I  haven't  been  as  neighborly  as  I  might 
have  been,"  he  reflected;  " there's  many  a 
turn  been  wanting  by  these  new-comers,  the 
Morrises,  that  I  might  have  'tended  to,  if  I 
hadn't  been  so  wrapped  up  in  my  own  busi 
ness.  Come  to  think,  almost  the  only  kind- 


PO-NO-KAH.  179 

ness  I've  done  for  nearly  a  year  past  was  in 
giving  a  bag  of  potatoes  to  that  sick  fellow, 
Po-no-kah,  who  seemed  to  me  to  be  a  good 
fellow,  if  he  was  an  Indian.  However,  it 
ain't  much  kindness  to  give  to  those  murder 
ous  red-skins  when  there's  plenty  of  white 
men  wanting  help.  Heigho  !  if  I  ain't  agoin' 
to  shoot  any  thing,  guess  I'd  better  go  back." 

With  these  last  words,  uttered  half  aloud, 
neighbor  Hedden  arose,  and  walked  a  few 
steps  in  the  direction  of  his  home.  Presently 
he  paused  again,  muttering  to  himself— 

"It's  blamed  queer  I  haven't  heard  the 
youngsters  coming  down  with  the  scow  ;  I 
certainly  would  have  heard  them  if  they'd 
passed — guess  I  better  walk  on  a  little  way 
up  stream." 

So  saying,  he  turned,  with  a  new  anxiety 
upon  his  countenance,  and  moved  with  rapid 
strides  toward  the  rivulet,  that  still  ran  rip 
pling  on,  though  the  bright  sparkles  that  lit 
its  surface  at  noon  had  vanished.  Indeed,  by 
this  time  the  sunshine  was  fast  vanishing,  too, 
for  heavy  clouds  were  gathering  overhead, 
while  those  in  the  westward  were  gilded  on 
their  lower  edge. 


180  IEVINGTON    STORIES. 

IV. 
THE    SEAECH. 

"VTEIGHBOR  Hedden,  now  intent  upon  his 
IM  new  thoughts,  hurried  along  the  "bank  of 
the  stream.  There  were  pretty  tassel-flowers 
and  Jack-in-pulpits  growing  there,  which,  at 
any  other  time,  he  might  have  plucked,  and 
carried  home  in  his  cap  for  Kitty  ;  "but  he  did 
not  heed  them  now.  Something  in  the  dis 
tance  had  caught  his  eye,  something  that, 
showing  darkly  through  the  trees,  from  a 
"bend  in  the  streamlet,  caused  his  breathing  to 
grow  thicker  and  his  stride  to  change  into  a 
run — it  was  the  empty  boat ! 

Hastening  toward  it,  in  the  vain  hope  that 
he  would  find  his  little  ones  playing  some 
where  near  the  spot,  he  clutched  his  rifle 
more  firmly,  and  gasped  out  their  names  one 
"by  one.  "Where  were  they  I — his  sunny - 
hearted  Bessie,  his  manly  little  Rudolph,  and 
Kitty,  his  bright-eyed  darling  ?  Alas !  the 
only  answer  to  the  father' s  call  was  the  angry 
mutter  of  the  thunder,  or  the  quick  lightning 
that  flashed  through  the  gathering  gloom  ! 


PO-NO-KAH.  181 

In  frantic  haste  lie  searched  in  every  di 
rection. 

"Perhaps,"  thought  he,  "they  have  be 
come  frightened  at  the  sound  of  bears,  and 
hidden  themselves  in  the  thicket.  They  may 
even  have  got  tired  and  gone  to  sleep.  But 
where  is  Tom  Hennessy  f ' 

Again  and  again  he  returned  to  the  boat,  as 
though  some  clue  might  there  be  found  to  the 
missing  ones  ;  but  as  often  he  turned  back  in 
despair,  trusting  now  only  to  the  flashes  of 
the  lightning  to  aid  him  in  his  search.  The 
sharp  twigs  and  branches  tore  his  face  and 
hands  as,  bending  low,  he  forced  himself 
where  the  tangled  undergrowth  stood  thickest. 
Soon  his  hunting- cap  was  dragged  from  his 
head,  as  by  some  angry  hand  ;  he  knew  that 
it  had  caught  upon  the  branches,  and  did  not 
even  try  to  find  it  in  the  darkness. 

The  heavy  drops  of  rain,  falling  upon  his 
bare  head,  cooled  him  with  a  strange  feeling 
of  relief.  Next  his  gun,  which  he  had  leaned 
against  a  tree,  while  on  hands  and  knees  he 
had  forced  his  way  into  some  brush,  was 
swallowed  up  in  the  darkness. 

In  vain  he  peered  around  him  at  every 


182  IRVINGTON   STORIES. 

flash  that  lit  the  forest — he  could  see  nothing 
of  it.  Suddenly  a  bright  gleam,  shooting 
across  his  pathway,  revealed  something  that 
instantly  caught  his  eye — it  was  a  small  bit 
of  blue  ribbon,  such  as  Bessie  often  wore. 
Bending  to  pick  it  up,  he  started  back  in 
horror  !  The  light  had  lasted  but  an  instant, 
yet  it  had  been  long  enough  to  show  him  that 
the  ribbon  was  stained  with  blood,  while  near 
it  the  stones  and  leaves  shone  crimson  !  Even 
the  gnarled  roots  of  a  fallen  tree  were  dab 
bled  with  a  fearful  stain.  He  could  see  it  all 
distinctly.  With  upraised  arms,  he  knelt 
and  poured  forth  an  agonized  prayer — 

"  Great  God  !  where  are  my  children  ?  Oh ! 
have  mercy  !  have  mercy  !" 

Flash  after  flash  threw  its  lurid  light  upon 
the  kneeling  form.  Presently  loud  voices  re 
sounded  through  the  forest : 

"What,  ho  !"  "Hedden  !  Hedden  !"  "  Hen- 
nessy!  Tom  !"  "  Hallo  !" 

Hedden  stood  upright.  The  voices  were 
familiar.  He  shouted  back  lustily,  and  hur 
ried  toward  the  approaching  lanterns.  Alas  ! 
he  came  upon  faces  almost  as  pale  and  inqui 
ring  as  his  own — no  news  on  either  side  ! 


PO-NO-KAH.  183 

+ 

His  neighbors  had  eagerly  responded  to  the 
mother' s  appeal,  but  so  far  had  searched  the 
forest  in  vain.  If  Bouncer  could  only  be 
found  ;  and,  for  almost  the  first  time  in,years, 
Hedden  called,  "  Bouncer  !  Bouncer!"  with 
out  seeing  the  great  fellow  leaping  toward 
him.  What  wonder,  though — even  Bouncer 
could  scarcely  have  recognized  that  voice 
now  ! 

"  Hark  !"  cried  one  of  the  neighbors. 

They  listened.  There  was  certainly  a  pant 
ing  sound  from  some  spot  not  far  away. 

"Bouncer!  Bouncer!"  cried  the  poor 
father.  The  panting  again ;  they  lowered 
their  lanterns.  What  was  that  lying  upon 
the  sward — lying  there  close  by  Bouncer? 
It  was  Bessie !  They  rushed  toward  her, 
catching  their  breaths  as  they  saw  her  white 
dress  streaked  and  dabbled  with  blood.  She 
was  lying  very  still,  but  Bouncer  was  alive. 

They  raised  her  from  the  ground. 

"Bessie!  Bessie!  my  darling,  speak  to 
me  !"  cried  the  father. 

Her  eyes  opened  slowly  ;  for  an  instant  she 
did  not  know  who  held  her. 

"  Bessie,  child,  it's  father — speak  to    me  !" 


184  IKVINGTON   STORIES. 

She  looked  at  him  an  instant,  then  with  a 
pitiful  cry  "buried  her  face  in  his  bosom. 

Bouncer  staggered  forward,  and  noAV,  by 
the  light  of  the  lanterns,  they  could  see  a 
broad  gash  upon  his  shoulder,  and  another 
upon  his  head.  He  looked  up  at  Bessie  with 
a  mournful  whine. 

"  Oh,  Bouncer,  dear  Bouncer!  can't  you 
tell  me  where  they  are  ?"  cried  Bessie,  turn 
ing  suddenly,  and  gazing  upon  him  with 
streaming  eyes. 

The  brave  fellow  tried  to  wag  his  tail,  but 
his  strength  was  failing  fast. 

"He  came  to  me  only  a  little  while  ago," 
sobbed  Bessie.  "  Oh  !  I  was  so  thankful !  but 
he  came  so  slowly  I  knew  he  was  hurt.  I  put 
out  my  hand  and  felt  him  all  hot  and  wet — I 
can't  remember  anything  since  then.  Oh! 
father,  don't  let  poor  Bouncer  die — see  !  he 
is  falling!  Dear  old  Bouncer!"  and  she 
threw  herself  down  beside  him. 

The  poor  fellow  turned  his  head,  and  tried 
to  lick  her  hand  ;  then  started  up,  growling 
with  something  like  his  old  savageness,  and 
fell  over.  They  tried  to  lift  him  ;  they  called 
his  name.  Bessie  even  attempted  to  arouse 


PO-^O-KAH.  185 

him    with    a    cheerful    call.     There  was    no 
movement — Bouncer  was  dead  ! 

It  seemed  hard  to  leave  the  body  of  the 
faithful  creature  lying  exposed  in  the  forest, 
but  this  was  no  time  to  bury  him. 

All  that  they  could  gather  from  Bessie's 
confused  account  of  the  surprise  by  the  In 
dians,  and  her  own  escape,  served  to  make 
the  party  feel  that  further  effort  was  almost 
hopeless — still  they  would  not  despair.  It 
was  decided  that  one  of  their  number  should 
take  the  rescued  girl  back  to  her  mother, 
while  the  rest  should  proceed  in  their  search. 

The  fury  of  the  storm  had  by  this  time 
abated,  though  the  rain  fell  in  great  splashing 
drops,  and  the  wind  muttered  angrily  among 
the  trees  in  answer  to  the  distant  rumbling  of 
the  thunder.  Drenched  to  her  skin,  and 
shivering  with  excitement,  Bessie  begged  that 
she  -might  go  with  her  father. 

"We  will  find  them  soon,"  she  pleaded; 
"I'm  sure  we  will ;  and  then  we  can  all  go 
home  together.  It  will  frighten  mother  so 
dreadfully  to  see  me  coming  alone,  without 
Kudolph  and  Kitty,  and  with  all  this  blood 
upon  me,  too— Bouncer' s  blood  !" 


186  IBVINGTON   STOKIES. 

The  man  whose  lantern  had  gleamed  upon 
her,  hastily  shaded  the  light  from  her  dress 
with  his  great  rough  hand,  and  in  a  voice  as 
tender  as  a  woman's,  urged  her  to  go  with 
him  at  once. 

"  i  c  Go,  Bessie, ' '  said  her  father,  hurriedly, 
on  seeing  that  she  still  resisted,  ' '  we  are 
losing  time." 

This  was  enough.  "Good  night,  dear 
father!"  she  sobbed,  as  she  was  led  away; 
"  don't  tell  Rudolph  about  Bouncer  until  he 
gets  home,  father — it  will  almost  break  his 
heart." 

A  voice  that  even  Bessie  could  scarcely 
recognize  called  back  through  the  darkness : 
"  Good-night,  my  child.  Go  easy,  Joe,  and 
keep  a  sharp  look-out." 

"Ay!  ay!"  answered  the  man  in  a  sup 
pressed  voice,  as  he  grasped  more  firmly  the 
little  hand  in  his,  and  hurried  on. 

After  a  wearisome  tramp,  they  at  last 
reached  the  edge  of  the  forest.  Bessie 
started  to  see  a  tall,  white  figure  rushing 
with  outstretched  arms  toward  them. 

"It's  the  mother,"  said  Joe,  pityingly, 
raising  the  lantern  as  he  spoke. 


PO-NO-KAH.  187 

"  Oil,  Joe!"  screamed  the  poor  woman, 
"have  you  found  them? — tell  me,  quick!" 

"Well — no,  Miss  Hedden,"  he  shouted  in 
reply,  "not  exactly  that — but  ^e've  got  the 
gal  safe  an'  sound — not  a  scratch  on  her." 

In  another  moment  Bessie  was  in  her 
mother's  arms. 

"Only  me,  mother!"  she  sobbed;  "only 
me  ;  but  father' s  looking  for  them — and,  oh  ! 
mother,  Bouncer  is  dead  !" 

The  next  day  brought  no  better  tidings. 
At  noon  the  men  returned  from  their  search, 
jaded  and  dispirited.  After  the  first  explana 
tions  were  over,  Mr.  Hedden  called  one  of  the 
party  aside  and  whispered,  huskily— 

"Give  her  this,  Dennis — I  can't;  and  tell 
her  how  it  was  the  only  trace  we  could  find." 

The  mother's  quick  eye  caught  sight  of  the 
object  before  her  husband  had  fairly  drawn 
it  from  beneath  his  hunting -jacket.  "It's 
Kitty's  hood,"  she  cried,  stretching  forth  her 
hand  as  she  fell  fainting  to  the  floor. 

That  evening,  and  for  many  a  day  after 
ward,  the  search  was  continued,  but  without 
success ;  no  trace  could  be  found  of  either 
Tom  Hennessy,  Rudolph,  or  little  Kitty. 


188  IRVINGTON   STORIES. 

V. 
THE    CAPTIVES. 

WE  will  now  relate  what  "befell  Tom  and 
the  little  ones  on  the  fearful  day  of 
their  sail  up  the  beautiful  stream.  Bessie's 
eyes  had  not  deceived  her  when,  in  one 
agonized  glance,  she  had.  seen  Tom  dash  into 
the  forest  bearing  Kudolph  and  Kitty  in  his 
arms,  closely  followed  by  two  yelling  sav 
ages.  The  chase,  however,  was  a  short  one  ; 
before  Tom  had  advanced  many  steps  his 
pursuers  closed  upon  him,  and  tearing  the 
children  from  his  embrace,  bound  his  arms 
close  to  his  body  with  long  strips  of  bark. 
The  children,  screaming  with  terror,  struggled 
in  the  arms  of  the  Indians  and  called  fran 
tically  upon  Tom  for  help  ;  but  he,  poor 
fellow,  could  only  turn  his  pitying  eyes  upon 
them  and  beg  them  to  remain  quiet. 

"It'll  save  you  from  something  worse," 
he  groaned.  By  this  time  several  savages, 
darting  from  near  hiding-places,  had  sur 
rounded  them,  and  Tom  abandoned  all  hope 


PO-NO-KAH.  189 

of  escape.  Bessie's  screams  had  died  away, 
and  he  felt  sure  that  she  had  been  killed  and 
scalped  by  the  Indian  who  had  iirst  rushed 
upon  her. 

After  holding  a  moment's  council,  the 
Indians  began  a  rapid  march,  hurrying  Tom 
on  in  their  midst,  and  almost  dragging  the 
terrified  children — who,  each  with  its  tiny 
hand  in  the  grip  of  a  painted  warrior, 
ran  panting  by  their  sides.  Hurrying  on, 
faster  and  faster,  until  even  Tom  was  nearly 
out  of  breath,  the  savages,  without  exchang 
ing  a  word  among  themselves,  continued 
their  flight  (for  such  it  seemed),  carefully 
avoiding  even  the  breaking  of  a  twig,  or 
any  thing  that  could  furnish  a  clue  to  those 
who  might  come  in  pursuit. 

Soon  Kitty,  who  could  run  no  more,  was 
snatched  angrily  from  the  ground  and  car 
ried,  like  a  bundle,  under  the  great  muscular 
arm  of  one  of  the  savages.  But  when 
Rudolph  showed  evident  signs  of  exhaustion, 
the  wretches  paused,  evidently  consulting 
together  whether  they  should  not  tomahawk 
the  children  at  once.  Tom  could  stand  it  no 
longer  ;  determined  to  die  on  the  spot  rather 


190  IBVINGTON   STORIES. 

than  have  his  charges  butchered  before  his 
eyes,  he  stood  obstinately  still,  declaring  that 
he  would  not  go  another  step  if  the  children 
were  injured  a  hair. 

uLet  me  carry  them,"  he  cried.  "I  am 
strong  enough  to  bear  a  dozen  youngsters- 
unbind  me,  I  say,  and  hand  'em  over.' 

Some  of  the  red  men  knew  enough  of 
English  to  understand  his  meaning.  With  a 
contemptuous  sneer  one  of  them  tossed 
Rudolph  on  Tom' s  back ;  they  then  set  one 
of  his  arms  free,  and  drove  him  onward  with 
many  a  brutal  kick.  It  was  hard  work  for 
Tom,  shackled  as  he  was,  to  bear  the  fright 
ened  boy,  who  clung  to  his  throat  so  tightly 
as  to  sometimes  almost  strangle  him. 

"Hold  on,  Rudolph,  boy,"  he  whispered  ; 
"lower  down  —  there,  that  way.  Now 
don't  cry;  you're  father's  little  man,  you 
know." 

"  Oh,  Tom,"  sobbed  the  poor  boy,  "they'll 
kill  us,  I'm  sure,  like  they  did  little  Annie 
Green.  See,  now,  how  they  carry  Kitty- 
how  they  scrape  her  face  against  the  bushes  ; 
oh  !  oh  !"  and  Rudolph  hid  his  eyes  in  Tom's 
hair,  crying  as  if  his  little  heart  would  break. 


PO-XO-KAII.  191 

"Hush!"  muttered  Tom,  sternly,  "  or  I'll 
put  you  down." 

This  silenced  the  child,  and  it  was  well  it 
did,  for  more  than  one  of  the  Indians  had  laid 
their  hands  on  their  tomahawks  with  a  view 
of  quieting  him  once  for  all. 

In  an  instant  one  of  the  red  men  whose 
look,  though  grim  and  fearful  enough, 
showed  less  savageness  than  his  companions, 
gruffly  took  Kitty  from  the  Indian  who  was 
carrying  her  with  such  "brutal  carelessness. 
The  change  comforted  the  child,  and  in  a  few 
moments  the  exhausted  little  creature  was 
sleeping  soundly  upon  his  shoulder,  never 
waking  even  through  the  thunder-storm  that 
ere  long  seemed  to  rend  the  forest. 

In  this  way  the  Indians  hurried  on,  pausing 
once  to  change  their  captives'  bands,  so  as 
to  leave  his  right  arm  free  instead  of  his  left. 
Now  and  then  Tom  would  put  Rudolph  upon 
the  ground  for  awhile,  and  when  the  little 
fellow  flagged  he  would  lift  him  up  to  his 
shoulder  again. 

At  nightfall  the  party  halted  and  made  a 
large  fire  of  brush,  by  which  they  cooked 
some  venison  and  hominy,  which  had  been 


192  IRVINGTON   STOKIES. 

carried  by  them  during  the  inarch.  After 
partaking  of  their  meal,  and  giving  their 
prisoners  a  liberal  supply,  they  disposed 
themselves  for  the  night,  first  taking  care  to 
fasten  Tom's  hands  and  feet  securely,  and 
even  to  bandage  the  children' s  ankles  so  that 
they  could  not  stand.  In  vain  Tom  peered 
about  him  for  a  chance  of  escape  for  himself 
and  his  charges — for  he  would  on  no  account 
have  left  them  behind — but  there  was  no 
hope.  His  knife  had  been  taken  away  from 
him,  and  all  night  long  he  was  watched  by 
two  Indians,  who  remained  near  him  in  a 
sitting  posture.  Even  when  their  dusky 
faces  were  lost  in  the  darkness,  he  could  see 
the  gleam  of  their  piercing  eyes  as  the  fire 
light  flashed  and  faded.  Once,  when  the 
pain  from  his  fastenings  became  insupporta 
ble,  he  complained  to  one  of  the  watchers 
and  begged  to  be  unbound  for  a  moment, 
while  a  wild  hope  rushed  through  his  heart 
that  he  might  then,  quick  as  a  flash,  seize 
Rudolph  and  Kitty  and  fly  through  the  dark 
ness  out  of  the  reach  of  his  pursuers.  Vain 
hope  !  no  chance  occurred,  though  the  Indian 
readily  complied  with  his  request.  Almost 


PO-NO-KAH.  193 

every  warrior  raised  himself  upon  Iris  elbow 
in  an  instant,  and  lie  felt  the  glare  of  a  dozen 
eyes  npon  him  at  the  slightest  motion  he 
made.  After  the  Indian  had  loosened  the 
fastenings  somewhat,  and  given  Tom  a  drink 
of  pure  spring  water,  he  even  offered  him 
some  parched  corn,  and  in  no  unfriendly  way 
motioned  to  him  to  try  and  sleep  ;  but  all 
this  show  of  kindness  did  not  reassure  Tom. 
He  knew  enough  of  Indian  warfare  to  feel 
that  any  consideration  they  might  show  their 
prisoners  at  first  was  often  but  a  proof  that 
they  were  reserving  them  for  the  greatest 
cruelties  afterward. 

Long  before  daylight  the  next  morning  the 
march  was  resumed,  in  the  same  manner  as 
on  the  previous  day  ;  and,  indeed,  for  three 
or  four  days  it  was  continued  over  a  country 
dense  with  cedar  thicket,  and  becoming  more 
and  more  rocky  as  they  journeyed  on.  At 
last,  after  travelling  westward  for  a  distance 
of  about  a  hundred  and  fifty  miles — as  nearly 
as  Tom  could  estimate  it — they  saw,  rising 
from  the  lowlands,  the  smoke  of  an  Indian 
encampment. 

Some  one  had  evidently  been  on  the  look- 
13 


194  IJBVINGTON   STOEIES. 

out  for  them.  Before  they  reached  the  spot, 
they  were  welcomed  with  loud  whoops  and 
halloos.  Presently  the  entire  community,  as 
it  seemed,  turned  out  to  receive  them — hun 
dreds  of  savages,  men,  women,  and  children 
—who,  when  they  saw  the  prisoners,  pierced 
the  air  with  wild  shouts  of  joy — and,  sur 
rounding  them  like  so  many  dancing  fiends, 
appeared  anxious  to  wreak  instant  vengeance 
upon  them. 

The  men  were  painted  in  every  conceivable 
way,  with  hideous  daubs  of  color  upqn  their 
limbs  and  faces,  or  tattooed  so  as  to  look  more 
fearful  still ;  their  leggings  and  clubs  were 
trimmed  with  human  scalps,  and  their  heads 
were  shaved  closely,  leaving  only  a  lock  on 
the  crown,  called  the  scalp-lock,  which  was 
twisted  up  so  as  to  hold  tufts  of  brilliant 
feathers.  The  women,  scarcely  less  hideous 
than  the  men  (excepting  here  and  there  a 
young  maiden,  the  joy  of  her  tribe,  standing 
apart  from  the  rest),  crowded  fiercely  about, 
and  the  children,  naked  and  dirty,  whooped 
and  yelled  like  so  many  little  fiends. 

The  scene  was  certainly  not  likely  to 
inspire  the  prisoners  with  any  keen  sense  of 


PO-^O-KAH.  195 

security.  Indeed,  Tom  expected  instant  death 
at  their  hands,  and  only  hoped  that  he  and 
his  companions  in  misery  might  Tbe  spared 
the  fearful  tortures  which  he  knew  were 
often  practised  by  the  Indians  upon  their 
victims.  As  for  Rudolph  and  Kitty,  the  poor 
little  creatures  were  stupefied  with  terror,  and 
clung  to  Tom  in  a  way  that  seemed  to  make 
the  Indian  children  half  mad  with  delight. 

Suddenly  all  the  warriors  arranged  them 
selves  into  two  long  lines,  facing  each  other — 
and,  brandishing  their  tomahawks,  switches, 
and  clubs,  called  upon  Tom  to  run  the  gaunt 
let  !  One  of  the  savages  proceeded  to  set  free 
the  limbs  of  the  captive,  at  the  same  time 
explaining  to  him,  in  broken  English,  the 
nature  of  the  ceremony  about  to  be  enacted. 
This  was  nothing  less  than  for  Tom  to  run 
between  the  lines,  along  their  entire  length, 
with  the  chance  of  receiving  a  blow  from  each 
Indian  as  he  passed. 

"Run  like  deer!"  said  the  Indian,  as  he 
jerked  off  the  last  strip  of  hide  from  the 
captive's  arm,  "then  he  get  more  few 
knock." 

' '  Casting  one  despairing  look  about  him, 


196  IKVINGTON   STOEIES. 

and  seeing  not  a  possible  chance  of  escape, 
even  if  lie  were  not  bound  to  the  spot  by  the 
presence  of  Rudolph  and  Kitty,  poor  Tom 
commenced  the  fearful  race.  All  his  weari 
ness  was  forgotten  as,  in  very  desperation,  he 
flew  between  the  lines  so  rapidly  that  for  a 
short  distance  the  blows  fell  but  lightly  upon 
him.  Soon  a  crushing  stroke  from  the  back 
of  a  tomahawk  fell  heavily  upon  his  shoulder, 
but  he  did  not  falter  ;  the  yells  and  blows  of 
the  savages  lent  wings  to  his  feet — until,  at 
last,  when  the  end  was  nearly  reached,  a 
huge  chief  struck  him  a  blow,  with  his  club, 
that  felled  him  to  the  ground.  Springing  up 
instantly,  Tom  dashed  forward,  when  one  of 
the  wretches  threw  a  handful  of  sand  into  his 
eyes.  Blinded  with  rage  and  agony,  he 
staggered  on ;  but,  no  longer  able  to  evade 
the  strokes  falling  thickly  upon  him,  he  soon 
sank  again  to  the  ground,  and  was  beaten 
until  he  became  insensible.  Up  to  the  last 
moment  he  could  hear  the  shrieks  of  Rudolph 
rising  above  the  din.  The  poor  child  had 
been  forced  to  witness  Tom' s  sufferings  from 
the  first.  And  now,  when  the  victim  lay 
senseless  upon  the  ground,  the  savages 


PO-NO-KAH.  197 

brought  both  children  to  look  upon  him,  and 
seemed  to  enjoy  the  pitiful  cries  of  the  un 
happy  little  creatures  upon  finding  that  they 
could  gain  neither  look  nor  word  from  their 
old  friend. 

As  soon  as  Tom  opened  his  eyes  his  glance 
fell  upon  their  pale,  tearful  faces.  "  Don't 
cry,  youngsters,"  he  gasped  ;  "be  good,  and 
we  may  get  home  again  yet." 

"Oh,  come  now"  urged  Kity  ;  "come  tell 
mammy — mammy' 11  'ip  'em  for  hurtin'  'oo  ; 
nassy  Injins  !" 

Rudolph,  forgetting  his  misery  for  an 
instant,  laughed  outright  at  Kitty's  words. 
The  next  instant  he  shook  his  head  solemnly 
at  her — "No,  Kitty,  mother  couldn't  whip 
'  em ;  they'  d  kill  poor  mammy  the  next 
instant.  Oh,  I  wish  we  were  home  !  I  wish 
we  were  home !"  he  screamed,  giving  vent  to 
his  terrors  again,  as  he  saw  a  group  of  red 
men  moving  hastily  toward  them. 

After  dashing  water  upon  Tom's  wounds 
and  laying  him  upon  a  bed  of  deer-skins,  the 
savages  seated  themselves  in  a  ring,  and  held 
a  council  to  decide  the  fate  of  the  prisoners. 
The  warriors  sat  in  silence  while  a  great  war- 


198  IRVINGTON   STORIES. 

club  was  passed  around  the  circle.  Those 
who  were  in  favor  of  burning  them  alive 
struck  the  ground  heavily  with  the  weapon 
before  handing  it  to  the  next  warrior  ;  while 
those  who  objected  to  putting  them  to  death 
in  that  manner  merely  passed  it  on  in  silence. 

Tom  saw  all  this  from  where  he  lay,  and  he 
knew  its  meaning  well.  With  a  sinking 
heart  he  heard  the  heavy  thump  of  the  club 
as  each  warrior  gave  his  cruel  vote,  until  at 
last  one  chief,  holding  the  club  in  the  air, 
pointed  with  a  meaning  gesture — first  at  Tom, 
then  at  Rudolph  and  Kitty.  The  chiefs 
responded  with  a  grunt  of  assent  to  his 
inquiry  concerning  the  latter,  but  shook  their 
heads  when  their  attention  was  directed  to 
Tom.  Then  the  noble  fellow  knew  that  not 
his  fate,  but  that  of  the  children  was  being 
decided ;  while  they,  unconscious  little 
creatures,  looked  on  half  amused  at  what 
seemed  to  them  some  singular  game. 

uHi!"  whispered  Rudolph  to  Kitty, 
"didn't  that  fellow  hit  hard,  though  ?— he'll 
beat,  I  guess." 

A  moment  more  and  the  council  was  ended. 
One  of  the  Indians  approached  the  children 


PO-NO-KAII.  199 

and  daubed  their  sweet  little  faces  with, 
black ;  it  was  a  fatal  sign,  for  it  proved 
that  the  vote  had  been  against  them — Ru 
dolph  and  Kitty  were  to  be  burned  to  death  ! 


V  I. 

K  A-TE-QU  A. 

ALL  that  night,  and  for  many  days  after 
ward,  Tom  lay  in  a  burning  fever,  quite 
unconscious  of  what  was  passing  around  him. 
The  savages,  with  a  refinement  of  cruelty 
peculiar  to  many  of  their  race,  deferred 
putting  the  children  to  death  until  he  could 
be  an  eye-witness  of  the  scene. 

Meanwhile,  Rudolph  and  Kitty  were  treated 
almost  with  kindness.  They  were  well  fed, 
and  were  given  the  softest  deer- skins  to  lie 
upon  at  night.  Finding  themselves  un 
harmed  as  the  hours  went  on,  the  little 
creatures  became  more  confident,  and  finally 
resumed  their  natural  playfulness. 

Kitty  was  never  weary  of  the  bright  beads 
and  ornaments  of  the  Indian  maidens,  and 


200  IRVINGTON   STORIES. 

Rudolph  found  great  delight  in  shooting  with 
the  bows  and  arrows  of  the  papooses  or 
children,  who,  in  turn,  were  wonderfully 
amused  at  the  bad  shots  of  the  little  pale-face. 
Now  and  then,  to  be  sure,  the  vicious  child 
of  some  chieftain  would  amuse  itself  by  stick 
ing  sharp  thorns  into  Kitty' s  tender  skin,  and 
hearing  her  scream  in  consequence ;  or,  having 
seen  the  black-and-blue  marks  upon  her  deli 
cate  arms,  caused  by  the  rough  handling  of 
her  captors,  they  would  pinch  her  flesh  and 
watch  for  the  change  of  color  with  intense  in 
terest.  One  day  they  tried  it  while  Rudolph, 
was  standing  by,  holding  the  hand  of  the 
squaw  who  had  him  in  charge.  No  sooner 
did  the  usual  scream  escape  Kitty' s  lips  than, 
quick  as  thought,  the  boy  broke  from  the 
woman's  grasp,  and,  rushing  upon  his  sister's 
tormentor,  laid  the  little  savage  in  the  dust 
and  pummeled  him  well.  Instead  of  resenting 
this,  the  Indians  seemed  to  admire  the  pluck 
of  the  young  pale-face,  and  he  rose  in  their 
favor  at  once.  Especially  did  the  old  squaw, 
as  Indian  women  are  called,  applaud  him. 
She  was  a  strange  old  creature,  named  Ka- 
te-qua  (female  eagle\  and,  being  half  crazy, 


PO-NO-KAH.  201 

was  looked  upon  by  the  Indians  as  one  in 
spired  "by  Manitou,  or  the  Great  Spirit.  Be 
sides,  her  brother  had  been  a  famous  Medicine* 
of  the  tribe  ;  and  her  two  sons,  who  had  been 
slain  in  battle,  were  celebrated  braves  or  war 
riors,  each  owning  long  chains  of  scalps,  which 
they  had  taken  from  their  enemies.  So,  of 
course,  when  she  wagged  her  head  in  appro 
bation  of  Rudolph' s  conduct,  half  the  women 
near  her  wagged  their  heads  also.  Indeed, 
had  Tom  remained  ill  a  few  weeks  longer,  the 
black  marks  on  the  children's  faces  would 
have  worn  off  without  any  further  injury  be 
ing  done  them.  But  as  he  grew  better,  and, 
finally,  was  able  to  sit  upright  on  his  deer- skin 
couch,  the  malice  of  his  captors  was  renewed. 
They  resolved  not  only  to  carry  out  their 
original  designs  upon  the  children,  but  to  put 
the  sick  pale-face  to  the  extremest  torture  as 
soon  as  he  was  strong  enough  to  afford  them 
the  requisite  amount  of  sport  on  the  occasion. 
Accordingly  on  the  fourth  day  after  Rudolph 
had  punished  the  little  "  Red-skin,"  prepara 
tions  for  carrying  out  their  fiendish  rites  were 
commenced.  Heaps  of  fagots  were  industri- 

*  Mystery-man  or  Indian  prophet. 


202  IKVINGTON   STOEIES. 

ously  piled  against  an  oak  tree,  which  stood 
apart.  Tom,  with  feet  shackled,  and  his  arms 
tightly  secured  to  his  sides,  was  led  out  to 
witness  the  fearful  scene.  Rudolph  and  Kitty 
were  stripped  naked,  and,  in  spite  of  their 
struggles,  bound  side  by  side  to  the  tree. 

Already  the  wild  dance  of  the  inhuman 
murderers  had  commenced.  Frightful  yells 
and  whoops  filled  the  air,  and  even  women 
and  little  dusky  children  clapped  their  hands 
and  shouted  with  malignant  delight.  They 
brought  armfuls  of  brush  and  laid  it  close  to 
the  pile.  Nothing  was  needed  to  complete 
the  deed  but  to  apply  the  fatal  torches,  now 
sending  forth  hot,  lurid  gleams  into  the  pale 
air,  and  brandished  by  a  dozen  yelling  savages. 

At  a  signal  from  an  aged  chief,  the  brush 
was  lit.  The  fire  cracked  and  snapped  ;  soon 
its  snake-like  wreaths  curled  about  the  pile, 
sending  thick  smoke  around  the  screaming 
victims,  when,  suddenly,  old  Ka-te-qua — she 
who  had  taken  charge  of  the  children — rushed 
from  the  neighboring  forest.  Tearing  through 
the  crowd,  she  flew  to  the  pile  of  fagots,  and 
with  vigorous  strokes  scattered  the  blazing 
wood  in  every  direction. 


PO-NO-KAK.  203 

Then,  turning  toward  the  astonished  savages, 
who  had  retreated  a  few  paces  to  escape  the 
burning  brands,  she  addressed  them  passion 
ately  in  the  Indian  tongue  : 

"  The  Great  Spirit,"  she  cried,  "scowls  upon 
you — the  very  flames  hiss  in  the  wet  grass. 
The  sons  of  Ka-te-qua  are  gone  to  the  happy 
limiting  grounds  of  the  dead.*  Her  wigwam 
is  dark.  The  young  pale-faces  are  to  her 
like  the  water-lilies  of  the  stream.  Why, 
when  she  was  in  the  forest  gathering  herbs  for 
the  sick  of  her  tribe,  did  ye  steal  them  from 
her  lodge  like  dogs  ? 

u Is  the  tongue  of  Ka-te-qua  forked?  Has 
she  not  said  that  no  warrior  need  hunt  the 
deer  for  the  young  pale-faces  ?  With  her  they 
shall  grow  like  hickory  saplings,  towering 
with  strength.  The  deer  shall  not  be  more 
fleet  than  they,  nor  the  songs  of  the  birds 
more  glad.  The  sun  shall  paint  their  white 
skins.  The  love  of  the  red  man  shall  enter 
their  hearts ;  they  shall  be  as  the  young  of  our 
tribe.  Unbind  them  !  Give  them  to  Ka-te- 
qua,  or  by  the  next  moon  a  burning  fever 
shall  fall  upon  you.  Like  panthers  will  you 

*  The  Indian's  Heaven. 


204  IRVINGTON   STORIES. 

bite  the  dust.  All  tlie  waters  of  the  great 
cataract  cannot  quench  your  thirst,  and  your 
mightiest  hunters  will  be  as  women." 

She  paused.  A  fine-looking  chieftain  arose 
and  spoke : 

"  The  sister  of  the  great  Medicine  has  spoken 
well.  She  dwells  alone  in  her  wigwam.  Her 
arm  is  strong.  Her  eye  is  keen,  like  the 
hawk's.  The  deer  fall  before  her,  and  her 
arrow  can  find  the  heart  of  the  grizzly  bear. 
Her  corn  stands  higher  than  the  grass  of  the 
prairie.  She  can  feed  the  young  pale-faces. 
The  Great  Spirit  gives  them  to  her.  Let  it  be 
so." 

A  council  was  held  at  once.  This  time  more 
than  half  the  chieftains  passed  the  club  on  in 
silence,  for  Ka-te-qua,  as  I  haye  said,  was  re 
spected  among  them ;  she  had  great  powers 
of  healing,  and  many  of  the  Indians  regarded 
her  with  a  superstitious  reverence. 

The  children  were  unbound  and  borne  in 
state  to  the  old  squaw's  wigwam.  From  that 
hour,  though  they  were  closely  watched  and 
guarded,  their  lives  were  safe. 


PO-NO-KAH.  205 

VII. 

BIG    TOM. 

f^ROM  the  conduct  of  the  Indians  towards 
Tom,  it  was  evident  that  his  time  lor 
torture  had  not  yet  arrived.  He  therefore 
had  tact  enough  to  remain  ' '  weak ' '  as  long  as 
possible,  tottering  languidly  about  the  grounds 
whenever  they  allowed  him  the  liberty  of  ex 
ercising  his  limbs,  and  drinking  the  mixtures 
and  decoctions  of  Ka-te-qua  with  the  patience 
of  a  martyr.  In  the  meantime,  the  shrewd 
fellow  took  care  to  win  the  good-will  of  the 
tribe  by  taking  apparent  interest  in  their 
games,  and  showing  a  great  amount  of  admi 
ration  at  their  feats  of  strength  and  agility. 
He  amused  them,  too,  by  the  display  of  nu 
merous  accomplishments  peculiar  to  himself, 
such  as  whistling  in  close  imitation  of  the 
songs  of  various  birds,  and  performing  feats 
of  jugglery  that  he  had  long  ago  learned  in 
his  native  town.  He  could  bark  like  a  dog 
and  howl  like  a  wolf;  imitate  the  distant 
tramping  of  horses'  feet,  and  give  the  sound 
of  a  whizzing  arrow  so  perfectly  that  the  old- 


206  IUVINGTON   STORIES. 

est  chiefs  would  turn  their  heads  quickly  in 
the  direction  of  the  sound  Neither  at  this, 
however,  nor  at  any  other  of  Tom's  perform 
ances,  would  they  show  the  slightest  change 
of  countenance,  for  an  Indian  never  allows 
himself  to  exhibit  feelings  of  surprise,  consid  - 
ering  it  quite  beneath  the  dignity  of  his  race 
to  do  so.  Even  when,  by  some  dexterous 
trick,  Tom  would  show  them  two  or  three 
acorns  under  a  leaf  where  their  reason  told 
them  there  could  be  none,  and  then  as  myste 
riously  cause  the  same  acorns  to  disappear, 
the  stony  faces  looking  on  never  changed  a 
muscle,  though  at  heart  they  were  probably 
quite  as  much  astounded  as  the  Welsh  mon 
ster  was  when  Jack,  the  Giant-Killer,  per 
formed  such  wonderful  feats  with  his  hasty- 
pudding.  By  degrees,  as  Tom  deemed  it 
prudent  to  appear  stronger,  he  would  dance 
the  sailors'  hornpipe  for  them,  or  sing  wild, 
rollicksome  songs,  or  make  beautiful  rustic 
seats  and  bowers  for  the  squaws.  He  was  a 
capital  marksman,  too,  and  soon  won  respect 
by  showing  that  he  could  handle  a  musket 
with  the  best  of  them.  The  few  Indians  who 
owned  guns  had  become  very  expert  in  their 


PO-NO-KAH.  "207 

use ;  and  Tom,  whenever  they  had  trials  of 
their  skill,  took  care  to  shoot  just  well  enough 
to  prove  himself  a  good  marksman,  without 
provoking  their  anger  by  excelling  too  often. 
After  awhile,  in  his  desire  to  win  their  con 
fidence,  he  even  went  so  far  as  to  signify  to 
the  Indians  that  he  would  like  to  become  one 
of  them  ;  that  their  mode  of  life  suited  him 
well,  and  he  would  be  glad  to  hunt  and  fish 
with  them  and  be  a  pale-face  no  more.  Alas  ! 
poor  fellow,  he  did  not  know  what  he  was 
saying,  or  how  soon  he  would  find  out  that 
even  in  cases  of  great  temptation  no  one  can 
tell  a  lie  without  suffering  unhappy  conse 
quences.  The  savages  took  him  at  his  word. 
They  held  a  council.  After  it  was  over,  while 
most  of  them  were  still  smoking  their  long, 
richly  ornamented  pipes  with  great  delibera 
tion,  two  or  three  of  the  Indians  seized  him 
and  gravely  commenced  plucking  out  his  hair 
by  the  roots.  Soon  Tom  twitched  from  head 
to  foot,  and  water  stood  in  his  eyes ;  but  the 
red  men  still  kept  on  with  their  work,  dipping 
their  fingers  in  ashes  occasionally  to  enable 
them  to  take  a  better  hold.  Before  long  his 
head  was  completely  bald,  with  the  exception 


208  IRVINGTON   STOKIES. 

of  one  long  tuft  upon  his  crown,  called  the 
s^-alp-lock.*  This  was  immediately  stiffened 
and  plaited,  so  as  to  stand  upright  and  hold  a 
variety  of  ornaments,  which  his  glum  hair 
dressers  fastened  upon  it.  Then  two  old  In 
dians  pierced  his  nose  and  ears  and  hung  big 
rings  in  the  smarting  holes.  They  then  took 
off  all  his  clothing  and  painted  his  naked  body 
with  every  variety  of  color.  Next  they  hung 
a  gayly  embroidered  cloth  about  his  loins,  put 
a  wampum  chain  about  his  neck  and  fastened 
silver  bands  on  his  right  arm.  When  this 
was  done  the  whole  party  gave  three  shrill 
whoops,  and  men,  women,  and  children 
crowded  around  him,  making  the  most  frantic 
gestures,  and  uttering  the  most  horrid  sounds 
that  ever  a  poor  fibbing  white  man  heard. 

Next  the  maidens  of  the  tribe  rushed  upon 
him,  and,  hurrying  him  to  a  stream  that  ran 
near  by,  dragged  him  into  the  water  until  it 
reached  his  waist,  and  tried  to  force  his  head 
under.  This,  of  course,  aroused  all  his  spirit 
of  resistance ;  but,  when  one  of  the  girls, 
named  She-de-ah  (wild  sage),  cried  into  his 

*  See  American  Adventure  by  Land  and  Sea.  Harper  Bros. 
1842. 


PO-^O-KAH.  209 

ear,  "No  kill!  no  kill!"  lie  concluded  to 
submit. 

After  this  he  was  ducked  and  held  under 
most  unmercifully,  until,  believing  "by  this 
time  that ' '  the  white  blood  must  be  all  washed 
out  of  him,"  they  led  him  up  the  shore,  all 
shivering  and  dripping,  and  presented  him  to 
their  principal  chief. 

The  next  performance  was  to  dress  him  in 
an  Indian  shirt,  ornamented  with  feathers  and 
beads  and  bits  of  porcupine  quill.  They  put 
leggings  on  his  legs  and  moccasins  on  his  feet, 
and,  seating  him  upon  a  bear-skin,  gave  him 
flint  and  steel  to  strike  a  light  with ;  then  a 
pouch,  a  tomahawk,  some  tobacco,  and  a  long 
pipe.  Then  the  chiefs  seated  themselves  be 
side  him,  and  smoked  in  silence.  Tom  knew 
well  enough  that  he  was  expected  to  smoke 
too,  and  filled  and  lit  his  pipe  accordingly, 
never  dreaming  of  the  consequences.  Old  as 
he  was,  nearly  twenty,  this  was  his  "first 
smoke,"  and  very  soon  the  poor  fellow  found 
himself  growing  deadly  sick.  He  could  feel 
the  cold  chills  creeping  one  after  another  into 
his  very  face.  Finally,  something  within  him 

seemed  to  turn  a  somerset,  when,  yielding  to 
14 


210  IRVINGTON   STORIES. 

a  sudden  impulse,  lie  flung  the  pipe  upon  the 
ground,  and  rushed  into  the  recesses  of  the 
wigwam,  where  he  usually  slept.  This  the 
Indians,  who  attach  an  almost  sacred  import 
ance  to  the  pipe,  took  as  a  great  affront ;  and 
only  when  Tom  afterward,  by  the  most  earnest 
gestures,  explained  to  them  the  real  cause  of 
his  conduct,  did  they  allow  their  injured  feel 
ings  to  be  pacified  ;  though  it  cut  him  sorely 
to  notice  the  expressions  of  contempt  that  were 
freely  lavished  upon  him.  Whether  this  proof 
of  what  seemed  in  Indian  opinion  a  want  of 
manliness  had  any  thing  to  do  with  their  con 
duct  or  not,  I  cannot  say,  but  certain  it  is  that 
no  further  ceremonies  towards  making  him  a 
red-man  were  performed,  though  he  was  allow 
ed  to  wear  his  Indian  costume.  Neither  did 
they  allow  him  to  hunt  with  them,  as  he  had 
hoped.  Whenever  they  went  forth  to  shoot 
the  bison  or  deer,  or  to  trap  the  beavers,  or 
wage  war  with  hostile  tribes,  they  always  left 
him  with  the  squaws,  the  old  men,  and  the 
warriors  who  remained  at  home  to  take  charge 
of  the  settlement. 

Rudolph  and  Kitty- were  sorely  frightened 
when  they  first  saw  the  strange  figure,  "  half 


PO-NO-KAH. 

Indian,  half  Tom,"  as  Rudolph  afterward  de 
scribed  him,  stalk  into  Ka-te-qna's  wigwam. 
His  bald  head  and  painted  body  struck  poor 
Kitty  with  dismay.  When  he  spoke  sooth 
ingly  to  her,  and  gave  her  a  handful  of  bright 
feathers,  she  ventured  to  approach  him,  though 
she  cried  pitifully  all  the  time  for  Tom,  dear, 
big  Tom,  who  knew  poppy  and  mammy,  and 
taught  Bouncer  to  jump  in  the  water  for 
stones. 

Neither  Kitty  nor  Rudolph  had  forgotten 
the  brave  dog  through  all  these  days  of  ab 
sence,  and  they  loved  to  hold  long  conversa 
tions  with  Tom  about  him  ;  though  the  little 
creatures  oftener  talked  of  their  parents  and 
Bessie,  as  they  lay  at  night  upon  their  bed 
of  dried  grass,  with  arms  entwined  lovingly 
around  each  other' s  necks. 


VIII. 


THERE   was  another  person  in  the  settle 
ment,  besides  the  prisoners,  who  was  not 
likely  to  forget  Bouncer  very  soon.     This  was 


212  IKVHSTGTON   STOKIES. 

an  Indian  who,  wounded  and  exhausted,  had 
reached  the  settlement  four  days  after  the 
arrival  of  the  prisoners.  He  had  an  ugly 
mark  upon  his  throat,  and  another  on  his 
"breast,  and  sulked  aside  from  the  rest  of  his 
tribe  as  though  he  felt  that  his  wounds 
were  ignoble,  and  a  dishonor  to  his  Indian 
birth.  It  was  his  blood  that  Farmer  Hedden 
had  seen  on  that  fearful  night ;  and  when 
more  than  once  the  agonized  father  had  lis 
tened  to  what  seemed  to  be  the  tread  of  some 
skulking  wolf,  he  had  heard  this  very  Indian, 
who,  half  dead  with  pain  and  loss  of  blood, 
was  dragging  himself  slowly  through  the 
depths  of  the  forest. 

This  discomfited  warrior  had  looked  upon 
Tom  and  the  two  little  pale-faces  with  dislike, 
from  the  hour  when  he  first  saw  them  as  pris 
oners  in  the  encampment.  They  were  con 
stant  reminders  to  him  of  his  mortifying  strug 
gle  with  the  dog.  He  felt  it  all  the  more 
because,  though  his  jacket  and  leggings  were 
trimmed  with  the  scalps  of  his  enemies,  he  had 
lately  been  forced  to  receive  charity  from  the 
white  man' s  hand.  This  was  when,  starving 
and  nearly  frozen,  he  had  fallen  insensible  in 


PO-NO-KAH. 


the  forest,  after  an  unlucky  trapping  excur 
sion  ;  a  settler  had  found  him,  restored  him  to 
consciousness,  and  sent  him  on  his  way  with 
a  bountiful  supply  of  provisions. 

Big  Tom  saw  the  dark  looks  of  this  Indian, 
and  regarded  him  with  suspicion  ;  but  little 
Kitty  wras  quite  unconscious  of  the  resentful 
feelings  of  "  the  sick  man,"  as  she  called  him. 
In  fact,  as  soon  as  she  grew  more  familiar  with 
the  Indians,  she  often  sought  him  in  prefer 
ence  to  the  rest,  and  loved  to  sit  upon  the 
ground  beside  him,  and  trace  with  her  tiny 
fingers  the  patterns  worked  upon  his  leggings 
and  moccasins. 

At  first  the  grim  warrior  repulsed  these 
familiarities  ;  but  when,  as  he  gradually  min 
gled  with  his  tribe,  he  heard  her  sweet  voice 
calling  him  by  name,  and  saw  her  day  after 
day  display  her  store  of  beads  and  feathers  at 
his  feet,  his  feelings  gradually  softened.  Be 
fore  long  he  ceased  to  scowl  upon  her  when 
she  lifted  her  sunny  face  to  his,  and,  on  very 
rare  occasions,  even  allowed  her  to  count  his 
arrows. 

Once,  when  Rudolph  had  shot  a  wild  tur 
key,  he  rushed  to  Ka-te-qua's  wigwam  with 


214  IRVINGTON   STORIES. 

his  prize,  for  lie  had  learned  to  love  the  strange 
old  squaw,  though  he  feared  her,  too,  some 
times.  Kitty  clapped  her  hands  with  delight 
at  her  brother' s  skill,  and  begged  him  to  go 
with  her  and  show  the  dead  bird  to  her  Indian 
favorite. 

"Come,  Rudolph;  come  show  'Nokah,'" 
she  pleaded,  pulling  the  young  hunter  by 
the  arm.  "  Come  twick  !  he  goin'  away." 

Rudolph  suffered  himself  to  be  led.  They 
found  Po-no-kah  standing  alone  by  a  tree,  fully 
equipped  for  the  hunt. 

He  looked  at  the  turkey  and  gave  a 
grunt,  not  particularly  nattering  to  Rudolph's 
vanity. 

"I've  shot  THEEE,"  said  the  boy,  holding 
up  three  fingers  to  make  his  meaning  clearer. 

"  Ugh  !"  grunted  the  savage  again.  "  Pale 
face  no  shoot  much." 

"  But  I'm  only  a  little  boy,"  persisted  Ru 
dolph.  "  When  I'm  big,  I'm  going  to  shoot 
bears  and  bison.  Did  you  kill  the  bears  to 
get  all  these  claws  ?"  he  added,  pointing  up  to 
Po-no-kah' s  necklace,  which  was  formed  en 
tirely  of  huge  bear-claws,  strung  through  the 
thickest  end. 


PO-NO-KAII. 

4 'Ugh,"  replied  the  Indian,  nodding  his 
plumed  head,  "  me  shoot  him." 

"And  these  scalps,"  said  Rudolph,  shud 
dering  as  he  pointed  to  the  fringe  of  human 
hair  hanging  from  the  buckskin  leggings  ; 
"  did  you  get  all  these  ?" 

"Ugh,"  he  answered  grimly,  nodding  the 
plumes  again. 

"You  are  bad,  then,"  exclaimed  Rudolph, 
looking  fearlessly  into  Po-no-kah's  eyes.  "  I 
know  you"  he  added  suddenly,  after  gazing 
at  him  intently  for  an  instant.  i '  Father  brought 
you  into  our  kitchen  last  winter,  and  I  ran 
behind  the  door.  Mother  gave  you  meat  and 
hot  drink,  and  father  warmed  you  and  gave 
you  a  bag  of  potatoes.  Oh  !"  he  continued, 
clasping  Po-no-kah'  s  knee,  ' '  you  know  where 
our  home  is.  Nearly  every  night  I  dream  that 
mother  is  calling  us.  Show  me  the  way,  please 
do.  Ka-te-qua  says  there  are  dreadful  things 
in  the  forest  that  will  eat  me  up,  but  I  am  not 
afraid.  Oh  !  do  tell  us  the  way  home." 

The  Indian  gave  a  sharp  look  at  the  sobbing 
boy,  and  seemed  in  part  to  understand  his 
words.  Stooping,  he  whispered  in  a  stern 
tone : 


216  IKVINGTON   STORIES. 

"No  speak ;  no  tell  Ka-te-qua."  And  with 
out  one  glance  of  encouragement,  lie  stalked 
away  to  the  spot  where  the  other  Indians  had 
assembled,  preparing  for  the  hunt. 

The  children  saw  him  no  more  for  weeks. 
Rudolph  remembered  his  parting  words,  and 
though  he  could  not  fully  understand  Po-no- 
kah's  motive,  he  faithfully  obeyed  his  com 
mand.  Not  even  to  Tom  did  he  relate  what 
had  occurred. 


IX. 

I1ST  D  IAN      LIFE. 

T)  UBOLPH  and  Kitty  learned  many  things 
JLlj  from  the  Indians  that  they  never  would 
have  studied  in  the  rough  school-house  near 
their  pretty  home,  and  became  familiar  with 
many  singular  customs  that  at  first  filled  them 
with  wonder. 

For  instance  :  when  they,  or  any  of  the  little 
papooses,  were  naughty  or  disobedient,  they 
were  put  under  what  might  be  called  the 
water-cure  treatment.  Instead  of  being  whip 
ped  or  locked  up  in  a  dark  pantry — as  is,  I 


PO-NO-KAH.  217 

am  sorry  to  say,  the  custom  among  some  white 
people — they  were  simply  "ducked"  under 
water  until  they  became  manageable.  Winter 
or  summer,  it  was  all  the  same.  A  bad  child 
would  very  soon  become  a  wet  child,  if  there 
were  any  water  within  a  mile. 

There  are  bright  sides,  as  well  as  dark,  to 
the  Indian  character  ;  and  in  considering  their 
cruelties  and  inhuman  practices,  we  must 
remember  that  the  white  man  has  not  always 
set  a  good  example  to  his  uncivilized  brother, 
or  been  careful  not  to  provoke  him  to  deeds 
of  resentment  and  wrong.  An  Indian  rarely 
forgets  a  kindness,  and  he  never  tells  a  lie. 
He  is  heroic,  and  deems  it  beneath  a  man's 
dignity  to  exhibit  the  slightest  sign  of  pain 
under  any  circumstances.  Among  the  Sioux 
tribe  the  young  pappooses  are  trained  to  bear 
as  much  hardship  as  possible.  They  have 
a  ceremony  called  the  Straw  Dance,  in  which 
children  are  forced  to  maintain  a  stately  and 
measured  step,  while  bunches  of  loose  straws 
tied  to  their  naked  bodies  are  lit  and  allowed 
to  burn  slowly  away.  Any  poor  little  crea 
ture  who  flinches  or  "breaks  step"  is  sorely 
punished  and  held  in  disgrace. 


218  IKVINGTON   STORIES. 

There  are  certain  dances  among  the  In 
dians  performed  by  the  warriors,  before  going 
either  to  battle  or  to  the  hunt.  If  to  battle, 
they  spend  hours,  and  often  whole  days 
and  nights  together  in  the  fearful  war- dance, 
accompanied  by  clashings  on  their  drum- 
like  instruments,  and  whoops  that  ring  long 
and  loud  amid  the  echoing  hills.  If  to  the 
hunt,  the  Bear-Dance  or  the  Buffalo-Dance 
is  kept  up  nights  and  days  before  start 
ing,  in  order  to  propitiate  the  Bear  Spirit 
or  Buffalo  Spirit,  whichever  it  may  be. 
They  have  a  funeral  dance  also,  which  is 
very  solemn  and  impressive.  And  if  a 
chieftain  is  to  be  buried,  sometimes  in  the 
river,  and  sometimes,  as  among  the  Mandans, 
on  rough  platforms  erected  on  poles  high  up 
from  the  ground,  the  warriors  dance  before 
his  wigwam,  and  assign  to  a  few  of  their 
number  the  duty  of  seeing  that  his  widow 
and  children,  if  he  have  left  any,  shall  never 
be  without  food  and  shelter. 

Kitty  and  Rudolph  often  looked  on  with 
mingled  feelings  of  terror  and  delight,  while 
some  of  these  strange  ceremonies  were  being 
enacted.  It  was  curious  to  see  the  stalwart 


PO-NO-KAH.  219 

warriors,  with  bent  backs  and  glum  faces,  and 
many  a  grunt  or  whoop,  stamp  through  the 
measured  dance.  Often  Kitty  would  clutch 
her  brother' s  arm  in  terror,  when,  in  strange 
concert,  the  savages  would  suddenly  halt,  and 
with  fiendish  look  and  stealthy  gesture,  seem 
to  be  listening  to  the  approach  of  an  enemy. 

Sometimes,  too,  the  women  danced,  but 
usually  apart  from  the  men.  Even  in  their 
games  the  warriors  and  squaws  never  played 
together.  Among  the  Crow  Indians,  famous 
for  their  long  black  hair,  it  is  not  uncommon 
for  a  thousand  young  men  to  play  in  one 
game  of  ball  for  three  or  four  consecutive 
days  without  interruption.  As  soon  as  one 
player  retires,  exhausted,  another  takes  his 
place.  Often  hundreds  of  women  play  to 
gether,  and  they  are  generally  as  expert  as 
the  men  in  throwing  and  catching  the  ball. 

Another  strange  feature  among  Indian  cus 
toms,  is  the  importance  attached  to  the  medi 
cine-bag.  Every  warrior  has  one,  and  would 
no  sooner  hunt,  or  go  to  battle,  or  appear 
among  his  tribe  without  it,  than  he  would 
neglect  to  wear  his  bow  or  his  scalping-knife. 
Not  that  the  bag  contains  any  medicine,  such 


220  IRVINGTON   STORIES. 

as  we  understand  by  the  word — for  it  is  noth 
ing  but  a  small  piece  of  skin  sewed  like  a  bag, 
curiously  ornamented,  and  stuffed  with  straw 
or  leaves — but  because  he  regards  it  as  a 
cliarm.  With  him,  ' '  medicine' '  means  some 
mysterious  power  that  will  protect  and  guide 
him,  and  propitiate  the  unseen  powers  in  his 
favor.  When  about  to  obtain  his  medicine, 
the  young  Indian  goes  alone  to  some  solitary 
river  or  lake  in  the  depths  of  the  forest,  or 
mounts  to  some  lonely  peak.  Here  he  fasts,  and 
remains  until,  sleeping,  he  dreams.  The  first 
animal  he  dreams  of,  whether  it  be  a  bear, 
buffalo,  deer,  weasel,  or  bird  or  reptile  of  any 
kind,  becomes  his  "  medicine"  forever.  He 
at  once  hunts  until  he  finds  one,  and  obtains 
its  skin  for  a  bag. 

Rudolph  and  Kitty  looked  with  awe  upon 
many  of  the  rare  medicine-bags  of  the  tribe, 
though  they  were  never  on  any  account  al 
lowed  to  touch  them.  Indeed,  Kitty  had 
managed  to  construct  a  rough  little  one  for 
Rudolph,  dotted  with  clumps  of  beads,  and 
he  wore  it  next  his  heart  with  secret  pride. 
The  little  fellow  had  once,  while  tramping 
through  the  forest  with  Katequa.  seen  a  num- 


PO-NO-KAH.  221 

"ber  of  deer  gathered  around  a  spring,  or  salt 
lick,  as  it  is  called,  and  had  quivered  with 
frightened  delight  to  see  the  finest  one  fall 
wounded  by  her  arrow.  When  the  large 
eyes  of  the  wounded  creature  had  turned 
plaintively  toward  him,  he  had  tried  not  to 
feel  sorry,  but  his  heart  ached  in  spite  of  his 
eiforts. 

"I  shall  be  a  mighty  hunter  one  of  these 
days,"  he  said  to  Kitty  on  his  return;  "but 
I  won't  shoot  deer,  for  they  look  at  you  just 
as  if  they  wanted  to  speak.  I'll  get  bears 
though,  lots  of  'em,  and  buffalo  ;  and  I'll  have 
a  steel  trap  when  I  get  home,  and  catch  badg 
ers  and  foxes,  just  as  the  Indians  do." 

Tom  and  Rudolph  saw  with  indignation 
that,  throughout  the  settlement,  the  labor 
and  drudgery  were  forced  upon  the  squaws, 
while  the  warriors  stretched  themselves  lazily 
upon  the  ground,  or  smoked  their  pi  pes  under 
the  spreading  trees.  As  for  Kitty,  she  was 
too  busy  watching  the  women  cook,  dig,  chop, 
and  carry,  to  draw  any  moral  reflections. 

She  loved,  also,  to  sit  beside  them  when 
they  prepared  the  skins  brought  in  from  the 
hunt,  or  while  they  were  busy  with  their  cu- 


222  IBVINGTON   STOKIES. 

rious  sewing,  so  different  from  that  with  which 
she  had  seen  her  mother  occupied. 

Bright-colored  rags,  feathers,  beads,  porcu 
pine-quills,  and  even  scraps  of  tin,  were  the 
ornaments  upon  which  the  squaws  relied  to 
make  the  toilets  of  their  tribe  "  stylish"  and 
"beautiful ;  and  Kitty  soon  grew  to  agree  with 
them  perfectly  in  matters  of  taste. 

To  be  sure,  the  Indian  women  never  did  any 
thing  quite  so  barbarous  as  to  hang  steel  frame 
works,  made  like  hen-coops,  beneath  their 
skirts,  and  fancy  the  effect  graceful.  Neither 
did  they  put  the  little  girl-pappooses'  feet  in 
narrow  shoes,  nor  fasten  tight  belts  about  their 
waists,  so  that  the  God-given  machinery  with 
in  could  scarcely  work.  But  they  did  many 
preposterous  things,  for  all  that.  They  painted 
their  bodies  and  tattooed  their  skins,  by  prick 
ing  figures  on  the  flesh  and  rubbing  in  some 
staining  j  uice  when  the  blood  appeared.  They 
even  pierced  their  noses,  so  that  bright  rings 
could  dangle  from  them.  Many,  too,  hung  bits 
of  metal  from  their  ears  in  a  similar  way — but 
that  may  not  strike  my  civilized  readers  as 
being  a  very  barbarous  custom. 


PO-NO-KAH. 


X. 


KA-TE-QUA'S     "GOOD 

THUS  weeks  and  months  passed  away,  not 
so  wearily  to  the  prisoners,  as  to  the  poor, 
sorrowing  hearts  that  mourned  for  them  at 
home.  Tom' s  brain  was  always  busy  in  plan 
ning  some  mode  of  escape  for  himself  and  his 
little  charges.  But,  as  he  was  still  closely 
guarded,  never  being  left  alone  for  an  instant, 
night  or  day,  and  as  the  children  slept  in  the 
wigwam  of  Ka-te-qua,  whose  eyes  seemed 
never  intended  to  close,  he  concluded  to  wait 
patiently  rather  than  to  risk  the  lives  of  all 
three  by  an  unsuccessful  attempt. 

Meantime,  Ka-te-qua' s  strong  arms  grew 
feeble,  her  arrow  became  less  fatal  in  its  aim, 
and  her  strange  fits  of  moodiness  filled  Ru 
dolph  and  Kitty  with  dread. 

For  hours  she  would  sit  at  the  entrance  of 
her  wigwam,  chanting  mournfully  in  the  In 
dian  tongue.  At  such  times  she  would  com 
pel  the  children  to  remain  within, — becoming 
frantic  with  crazy  rage  should  they  attempt  to 
force  past  her  into  the  pleasant  sunshine ; 


224  IRVINGTON   STORIES. 


and  they  would  sit  together  in  the  shadow, 
hoping  that  by  some  freak  she  would  walk 
away,  or  that  the  long,  long  song  would  cease. 
One  afternoon  she  kept  them  waiting  in  this 
way  for  hours.  The  sun  sank  lower  and  lower 
into  the  distant  prairie,  and  the  crimson  clouds 
faded  to  a  dull  gray.  Rudolph  and  Kitty  sat 
listening  to  the  wailing  tones  of  Ka-te-qua's 
voice  until,  as  the  evening  grew  dark  and 
chilly,  they  found  for  themselves  a  scanty 
supper  of  parched  corn,  and  after  whispering 
their  simple  prayer,  groped  their  way  to  bed. 

The  strange  old  creature  ceased  singing  after 
awhile,  and  entered  the  wigwam.  They  could 
distinguish  her  form  as  she  slowly  moved 
about,  before  throwing  herself  down  near  the 
entrance  to  indulge  in  her  usual  cat-like  sleep. 
Afraid  to  speak  to  her,  for  they  were  not  quite 
sure  in  what  mood  she  might  be,  they  watched 
her  movements  as  well  as  they  could,  and  at 
last  felt  sure  that  she  was  tottering  slowly 
toward  them. 

Kitty  clasped  Rudolph'  s  neck  more  tightly, 
and  broke  into  a  frightened  sob.  In  an  instant 
they  felt  her  hand  steal  gently  over  their  tan 
gled  curls. 


.PO-NO-KAH.  225 

"  Night !  night !"  she  whispered  softly. 

"  Good  night,  Ka-te-qua,"  they  answered  in 
a  breath,  for  their  fear  was  all  gone  now. 

"Night,  night,"  repeated  the  voice,  as 
kindly  as  their  own  mother  could  have  said 
it,  and  after  giving  each  a  caressing  stroke, 
their  old  friend  moved  softly  away. 

Very  early  the  next  morning  the  children 
were  awakened  by  a  buzz  of  many  voices. 
Ka-te-qua  had  been  found  lying  stiff  and  cold 
at  the  entrance  of  her  wigwam.  Not  a  bruise 
nor  injury  of  any  kind  was  upon  her.  The 
Indians,  crowding  round,  shook  their  heads 
gravely.  Ka-te-qua  was  wise,  they  said,  but 
Manitou*  had  sent  for  her.  She  had  gone  to 
the  happy  Hunting  Grounds  of  her  fathers. 


XI. 

F I BE -WATER    BECOMES    MASTER. 

A  FTER  a  long  absence,  the  hunting  party 
-L.L  returned.  As  soon  as  Po-no-kah's  stal 
wart  form  appeared  in  sight,  Rudolph  and 
Kitty  rushed,  with  a  cry  of  joy,  to  meet  him  ; 

*  The  Indians'  God. 

15 


226  IKVINGTON   STORIES. 

Ibiit,  to  their  great  dismay,  he  pushed  them 
away  with,  a  frown  and  a  grunt  that  told  them 
plainly  that  they  were  to  be  familiar  with 
him  no  more.  Poor  children  ! — Ka-te-qua 
gone,  Po-no-kah  changed,  and  Tom  scarcely 
heeding  them, — they  felt  friendless  indeed. 
Kind  words  they  never  heard  now,  and  kind 
looks  rarely,  except  when  Tom  threw  them  a 
hasty  glance  that  warmed  their  hearts,  though 
they  scarcely  knew  why.  They  did  not  know 
how  his  feelings  yearned  towards  them,  nor 
how  eagerly  he  would  have  joined  in  all  their 
simple  pursuits,  had  he  dared  to  do  so  ;  but  the 
popr  fellow  had  discovered  that  any  notice  he 
took  of  the  children  aroused  suspicion,  and  he 
therefore  concluded  to  pursue  a  prudent  course. 

In  the  mean  time  the  children  had  one  great 
joy.  Their  love  for  each  other  was  always 
the  same.  Kitty  trusted  in  the  belief  that 
"mammy"  would  send  for  them;  but  Ru 
dolph  looked  ever  up  to  the  Great  Love  fchat 
he  knew  was  watching  over  them  and  the 
dear  ones  at  home. 

"If  it's  right,  Kitty,"  he  would  whisper, 
"I  Jmow  we'll  go  home  one  of  these  days. 
Don't  be  afraid.  God  will  take  care  of  us." 


PO-NO-KAH. 

"  But  Dod  took  Te-qua  away,"  Kitty  would 
sometimes  say. 

"Yes,  I  know  He  did,  Kitty,  "and  Rudolph's 
eyes  would  look  sadly  up  to  the  blue  sky,  "  I 
know  He  did,  but  then  I  guess  she  was  tired 
and  wanted  to  go." 


Summer,  autumn,  and  winter  had  passed 
away,  and  now  came  the  season  when  the  In 
dians  carried  their  largest  supply  of  furs  and 
skins  to  sell  in  the  city  far  over  the  prairies. 
Often,  after  their  hunts,  they  had  met  with 
traders,  and  exchanged  the  skins  they  had 
taken  for  such  articles  as  the  white  man  had 
to  give — guns,  blankets,  knives,  powder,  pipes, 
and  fire-water  ;*  but  this  was  the  grand  trading 
excursion  of  the  year. 

When  the  party  returned,  after  a  few  weeks, 
absence,  they  brought  with  them,  among  other 
things,  a  keg  of  whiskey.  After  the  first  wel 
come  was  over,  the  savages  held  a  council. 

It  was  soon  evident  that  a  fearful  scene  was 
to  be  enacted.  The  prisoners  had  seen  some- 

*  Brandy,  rum,  and  ull  alcoholic  liquors. 


228  IRVIJ^GTON   STOKIES. 

thing  of  the  kind  before,  but  never  on  so  large 
a  scale  as  this. 

The  Indians  had  decided  to  hold  a  revel,  in 
which  nearly  all  the  men  were  to  drink  fire 
water  until  they  could  take  no  more. 

Even  savages  know  the  horrible  conse 
quences  of  parting  with  their  wits  in  this 
manner.  Before  the  drinking  commenced, 
they  appointed  a  few  able-bodied  Indians  who 
were  to  remain  sober  and  take  care  of  the  rest. 
They  then  deprived  themselves  of  all  their 
dangerous  weapons — tomahawks,  clubs,  guns, 
arrows,  and  knives,  and  prepared  for  their 
fearful  riot. 

The  scene  that  followed  need  not  be  de 
scribed.  The  very  beasts  might  have  blushed 
to  see  men  thus  degrade  themselves. 

Soon  the  confusion  became  fearful.  The 
few  sober  chiefs  were  constantly  risking  their 
lives  in  their  efforts  to  prevent  mischief. 
Women  were  screaming,  and  frightened 
children  were  hiding  in  every  direction. 

Tom,  who  was  half  forgotten  in  the  general 
excitement,  saw  Po-no-kah  whisper  hurriedly 
to  one  of  the  women.  In  a  moment  she  caught 
Rudolph  and  Kitty  by  their  hands  and  stole 


PO-NO-KAH.  229 

cautiously  with  them  into  the  forest.  Tom' s 
suspicions  were  aroused.  He  started  up  only 
to  feel  a  strong  arm  force  him  back  to  the  log 
upon  which  he  had  been  seated. 

"No  move,"  muttered  a  voice,  close  by  his 
ear  ;  "  soon  come — very  drunk." 

In  a  few  moments,  while  the  tumult  and 
uproar  were  at  their  height,  Tom  saw  Po-no- 
kah  reeling  toward  the  forest. 

Wondering  what  the  fellow  meant  to  do, 
yet  filled  with  a  wild  hope,  Tom  watched  his 
chance,  staggered  past  the  rioters,  and  man 
aged  to  follow  the  warrior  by  another  path, 
without  creating  any  suspicion. 

When,  at  last,  they  met,  Po-no-kah  had  Ru 
dolph  and  Kitty  in  his  arms,  and,  staggering 
no  more,  was  hurrying  through  the  forest, 
armed  with  bow,  quiver,  and  travelling  pouch. 
The  astonished  prisoner,  after  taking  Kitty 
from  his  companion's  arms,  followed  him  in 
silence.  Not  for  hours  did  Po-no-kah  look 
back  or  speak,  and  then  it  was  but  to  say 
a  few  broken  words : 

"  Po-no-kah  was  hungry.  The  father  of 
the  little  pale-faces  fed  him.  Po-no-kah  no 
snake — he  grateful — he  take  'em  home." 


230  IKVINGTON   STORIES. 


XII. 

SHOWING  HOW  THE  BAG  OF  POTATOES 
CAME  BACK  AGAIN. 

T1ARMEB,  HEDDEN  was  busily  at  work  in 
JL  the  fields,  looking  ten  years  older  than 
on  that  sunny  day,  nearly  a  year  ago,  when 
he  had  shouted  a  laughing  "good-by"  to 
Tom  and  the  little  ones. 

Bessie  was  trudging  alone  from  school, 
wondering  why  the  birds  sang  less  sweetly 
than  they  did  the  May  before,  and  wishing 
that  the  noble  dog  that  bounded  by  her  side 
looked  a  little  more  like  the  first  Bouncer. 

Mrs.  Hedden  sat  with  her  brother  in  the 
lonely  cottage,  talking  on  the  old,  old  theme ; 
the  memory  of  that  terrible  night  had  never 
left  her  heart. 

4 'No,  no,  Robert,"  she  said  at  length,  in 
reply  to  some  appeal  from  her  brother,  "we 
must  not  go.  I  know  it  would  be  better  for 
us  to  sell  out  and  go  to  Philadelphia.  But  it 
cannot  be  ;  we  must  never  leave  this  spot." 


PO-XO-KAII.  231 

* k  Surely,  Betsy, ' '  urged  her  brother,  ' '  you 
cannot  be  so  wild  as  to  suppose — 

uNo!"  she  interrupted,  "I  never  dare  to 
even  hope  for  that  now.  I  know  my  lost  dar 
lings  are  not  in  this  world,  and  yet — and  yet 
why  not  hope  ?  why  not  think  that  perhaps— 

A  shadow  fell  upon  the  threshold.  What 
wonder  that  the  mother  sprang  forward  with 
a  cry  of  joy !  What  wonder  that  Farmer 
Hedden,  looking  from  the  field,  came  bound 
ing  toward  the  house  !  Po-no-kah  was  there— 
Po-no-kah  and  little  Kitty  ! 

Laughing, — crying, — clasping  Kitty  franti 
cally  to  her  heart,  then  gazing  at  her  at  arms 
length,  Mrs.  Hedden  raised  her  eyes  to  the 
Indian,  and  gasped  faintly— 

"  Rudolph  ?  the  boy— is  he—" 

She  could  say  no  more. 

"  Yes — boy  all  good,"  answered  Po-no-kah, 
eagerly,  "white  man  say  break  heart  see  two 
— he  here." 

Just  then  Farmer  Hedden,  Tom  Hennessy, 
and  Rudolph  rushed  in. 

Oh,  what  a  meeting  that  was  !  And  Bessie, 
too,  was  in  their  midst  before  they  knew  it. 
Such  laughter !  such  tears !  such  shouts  of 


232  IKVINGTON   STOEIES. 

rejoicing  had  never  been  known  in  the  Hed- 
den  cottage  before. 

Soon  the  barking  of  a  dog  was  heard.  Ru 
dolph  sprang  from  his  father' s  arms  : 

' '  Oh  !  it' s  Bouncer, ' '  he  cried,  ' '  let  me  see 
him.  Here,  Bouncer  !" 

Bouncer  indeed  came  leaping  in  at  the  call, 
but  it  was  not  the  Bouncer,  though  it  was  a 
great,  shaggy  fellow,  worthy  of  the  name. 

Rudolph  started  back ;  the  dog,  too,  eyed 
him  with  a  suspicious  look. 

"  That  isn't  Bouncer  !  Where  is  he, 
mother?"  exclaimed  the  poor  boy,  looking 
up  with  a  bewildered  glance. 

Po-no-kah  slunk  aside. 

;c  Do  tell  me  where  Bouncer  is,"  he  repeated. 
"  We  are  all  here  but  him.  Here,  Bouncer  ! 
Bouncer  !"  and  he  ran  to  the  door. 

Bessie  wound  her  arms  about  his  neck. 

" Rudolph,  darling,"  she  sobbed,  "don't 
cry.  Bouncer  was  killed  on  tliat  day.  He 
saved  my  life,  Rudolph — 

"  Bouncer  dead  !"  screamed  the  boy. 

Just  then  the  new  dog,  seeing  Bessie  and 
her  brother  so  close  together,  felt  that  he  had 
a  right  there,  too.  With  many  a  frantic  leap 


PO-NO-KAH.  233 

and  bound  he  endeavored  to  draw  Rudolph's 
attention,  until,  finally,  the  tearful  eyes  of  the 
boy  were  turned  upon  him.  Then,  if  ever  a 
dog  tried  to  do  his  best,  that  fellow  did.  He 
sprang  into  the  air,  barked,  tumbled,  leaped, 
whined,  wagged  his  tail  till  it  almost  spun, 
and,  finally,  licked  Rudolph  in  the  face  until 
the  chubby  cheeks  shook  with  laughter. 

All  this  time  Tom's  Indian  dress  had  scarcely 
been  noticed.  At  hist  Mrs.  Hedden,  grasping 
both  his  hands,  exclaimed : 

"Why,  what  in  the  world  have  you  been 
doing  with  yourself?  I  knew  you,  though, 
the  moment  you  came  in.  Oh,  Tom,  how  you 
have  suffered  !" 

Tom  tried  to  answer  her  ;  but  someho\v  his 
great  faithful  heart  was  overflowing,  and  he 
could  only  look  at  her  with  a  tearful  smile. 

"'Taint  nothing,"  he  said  at  length.  "It's 
all  ended  Avell,  anyhow.  But  a  fellow  can't 
help  thinking  of  his  own  folks,  dead  and 
gone,  when  he  sees  such  meetings  as  this." 

Mr.  Hedden,  who  had  been  talking  with 
Po-no-kah,  walked  over  to  Tom  and  placed 
his  hand  upon  his  shoulder. 

"  We  are  your  folks  now,  my  faithful  fellow. 


234  IKVINGTON   STORIES. 

God  bless  you  !  I  can  never  repay  what  I 
owe  you.  Remember,  our  home  is  yours  from 
this  hour.  I  shall  take  no  denial." 

"  Good !"  laughed  Bessie,  clapping  her 
hands  ;  "now  I  shall  have  two  brothers  !" 

Mrs.  Hedden,  who  had  listened  to  Po-no- 
kah's  broken  words,  kissed  and  hugged  Tom 
in  her  motherly  way.  "Dear  me,"  she  ex 
claimed,  ' '  how  can  we  make  you  look  like  a 
white  man  again  ;  and  to  think  you  have  had 
chances  to  escape  and  would  not  leave  the 
children,"  and  then  she  hugged  him  again. 

"Ugh!"  grunted  the  Indian,  nodding  his 
head  and  holding  up  three  fingers — to  signify 
that  Tom  had  had  three  chances. 

"Pooh!"  said  the  brave  fellow,  blushing 
through  all  the  red  paint,  "  I  didn't  have  any 
at  all  until  a  month  or  so  ago,  and  I'd  got 
kind  o'  use  to  staying  then." 

Soon  the  red  man  turned  to  go.  In  vain  the 
grateful  parents  tried  to  force  their  gifts  upon 
him,  and  to  persuade  him  to  at  least  partake 
of  some  refreshment  after  his  long  journey. 

His  hunting-pouch  and  his  bow,  he  said, 
would  furnish  all  the  food  he  required,  and 
he  must  be  far  on  his  way  before  sundown. 


PO-JS'0-KAH.  235 

As  Tom  gave  him  his  hand,  and  the  rest 
crowded  eagerly  about  him,  all,  even  to  little 
Kitty,  thanking  him,  over  and  over  again,  he 
waved  them  off  with  dignity. 

"  No  thank,"  he  said ;  "  Po-no-kah  was  cold 
and  hungry ;  the  father  of  the  young  pale 
faces  gave  him  food.  He  come  tell  white  man 
Indian  no  forget." 

Tom  expressed  anxiety  lest  their  deliverer 
should  suffer  for  his  act  when  he  returned  to 
his  tribe. 

"  Po-no-kah  no  fear,"  replied  the  Indian, 
with  almost  a  smile  upon  his  face ;  and  nod 
ding  a  farewell  to  Kitty,  he  strode  majestically 
away. 

Years  ago  the  Heddens  settled  on  a  fine 
farm  near  Philadelphia.  Rudolph  and  Kitty 
have  doubtless  walked  many  a  time  by  the 
old  hall  where  the  Declaration  of  Indepen 
dence  was  signed. 

Bessie  Hedden's  children  live  not  many 
miles  from  there  now,  but  their  names  are 
Hennessy ;  so  you  see  the  maiden,  probably, 
in  the  course  of  time,  changed  her  mind  about 
having  Tom  for  a  brother. 


BRAVE  HOBBY  AND  THE  SKELETON. 


ON  last  Christmas  Eve  I  put  on  a  large 
apron  and  went  down  to  the  kitchen  to 
prepare  a  plmn  pudding  for  next  day' s  dinner. 
The  children,  instead  of  being 

"Nestled  all  snug  in  their  beds, 
"While  visions  of  sugar-plums  danced  through  their  heads," 

crowded  eagerly  albout  me,  begging  that  they 
might  be  allowed  to  sit  up  an  hour  longer 
"just  this  once,"  and  help  pit  the  raisins. 

With  four  sweet  voices  pleading  at  once, 
eight  earnest  eyes  searching  my  face,  and  as 
many  eager  hands  pulling  at  my  gown,  how 
could  I  resist?  Permission  being  granted, 
the  children  gave  vent  to  shouts  of  joy  that 
brought  Aunt  Mary  into  the  kitchen. 

Order  being  finally  restored,  the  "pitting" 
and  "stemming"  commenced  in  good  earnest ; 


BRAVE   ROBBY   AND   THE   SKELETON.      237 

and,  as  a  consequence,  in  the  course  of  three 
minutes  Robby  had  cut  his  finger ;  Minnie 
had  spilled  her  cup  of  raisins  on  the  floor ;  and 
all  had  their  hands  well  besmeared,  and  their 
mouths  full. 

"Och,  mum!"  said  our  faithful  cook, 
Biddy,  seating  herself  despairingly  on  a 
bench  by  a  range,  " where' s  the  use?  The 
children's  fairly  stuck  togedder  wid  the 
muss,  and  the  flure's  sp'iled  on  me  intirely, 
after  all  me  scrubbin'." 

Anxious  to  make  friends  with  her,  so  that 
they  might  not  be  sent  to  bed  at  once,  the 
children  crowded  around  her,  and  Robby 
begged  her  to  be  good,  and  tell  them  about 
Mrs.  Maloney's  pig,  or  something  funny. 

U0h  yes!  do,  do!"  echoed  all  the  rest, 
half  smothering  her  with  embraces. 

"  Och  !  Is  it  tell  a  funny  story  on  Christ 
mas  Eve,  now?  Go  'long  wid  yez !  Who 
ever  heard  of  such  a  thing  ?  It' s  the  horrible 
kind,  all  about  the  ghosts  and  goblends,  that 
belongs  to  Christmas,  and  they'd  scarr  the 
wits  out  of  yez." 

"Pooh!"  said  Robby.  "I'd  like  to  hear 
the  story  that  could  frighten  me  /" 


233  IRVINGTON   STORIES. 

" Would  ye,  now?"  asked  Biddy,  with  a 
wicked  twinkle  in  her  eye.  "Pigs,  indade ! 
I  could  tell  yez  something  about-  Mrs.  Ma- 
loney,  now,  that  Jud  cruddle  yer  blood." 

"Well,  tell  us  !"  cried  the  children,  crowd 
ing  more  closely  about  her,  all  but  Hobby, 
who  stood  at  the  other  end  of  the  hearth,  feel 
ing  very  brave  indeed. 

"  Pshaw  !"  he  muttered,  "  you  might  scare 
the  girls,  Biddy,  but  you  couldn't  scare  me, 
never  mind  what  you  told  us." 

"Well,"  began  Biddy,  "yez  must  know 
that  before  Mrs.  Maloney  came  to  this  coun- 
thry,  she  had  a  mighty  hard  quarrel,  indade, 
with  one  of  her  payple.  Did  yez  ever  mind, 
now,  a  quare  scar  on  the  furhead  of  her  V ' 

"  Yes,"  answered  all  four  in  a  breath. 

"Well,"  resumed  Biddy,  "I'll  tell  yez 
more  about  that  same  in  a  minute.  She  had  a 
mighty  quarrel,  I  say,  in  the  ould  counthry, 
concerning  the  ownin'  of  the  farm  she  was 
livin'  on.  Ye  see  Misther  Maloney — as  fine  a 
buy  as  ever  lived,  pace  to  his  soul ! — well,  he 
left  it  all  til  his  wife,  and  he  hadn't  been  dead 
a  month  before  his  Cousin  Mike  came  flus- 
thering  around  wid  a  law  paper  called  a  mor- 


BRAVE   EOBBY   AND   THE   SKELETON.      239 

ragage,  or  some  sicli  name,  and  claimed  the 
property  hisself — the  baste  !  And  she — poor 
crayture  !-— afther  payin'  'most  everything  she 
kud  lay  her  hands  on  to  the  lawyers,  was 
glad  to  get  shet  of  the  whole  business,  and 
come  over  to  this  counthry,  with  nothin'  but 
the  clothes  on  her  back  and  one  chist ;  Mike, 
he  livin'  on  the  farm  like  a  gintleman,  an'  she 
a- wash  in'  and  scrubbin'  here  in  Ameriky  by 
the  day.  At  last,  jest  about  a  month  back, 
what  should  come  from  Ireland  to  her  but  a 
letter  from  Mike,  telling  how  he  was  after 
dyin'  in  great  trouble  of  mind  an'  body- 

"What!  from  Mike?"  interrupted  Robby. 

' '  Och,  how  ye  bother  me  !  from  one  of 
Mike1  s  payple,  then — where' s  the  differ  ?— 
and  tellin'  how  he  had  confessed  he  had  sold 
the  farm,  and  that  the  paper  he  had  got  it  by 
was  all  a  lie  indade  ;  and  he  frettin'  to  the  last 
bekase  he  must  die  widdout  Mrs.  Maloney's 
forgiveness  ;  and  in  the  letter  they  sent  her 
fifty  dollars  that  Mike  left  her  on  his  dyin' 
bed." 

"  That  was  good  in  him,"  suggested  Johnny. 

"Och,  good!"  exclaimed  Biddy,  wrath - 
fully.  "An'  what  good  was  it,  an'  he  afther 


240  IKVINGTON   STOEIES. 

almost  breakin'  the  poor  crayture's  heart? 
Well,  she  was  plazed  enough  to  get  the  money 
for  all,  as  she  told  me  herself,  indade,  here 
in  this  blessed  kitchen ;  for  she  said  it  would 
get  her  many  a  little  convaynience  that,  barrin 
it,  she'd  a  had  to  do  widdout.  And  that 
same  evenin'  she  came  to  ask  would  the  mis 
tress  let  me  go  stop  wid  her  that  night,  she 
felt  scar-ed  to  be  slaping  alone  afther  hearin' 
uv  Mike  dyin,'  an'  he  worryin'  afther  her. 
The  payple  of  the  house  where  Mrs.  Malo- 
ney  was  stoppin' ,  ye  mind,  was  strange  to  her, 
as  she  hadn't  been  in  it  but  about  tin  days. 
Well,"  continued  Biddy,  dropping  her  voice 
to  a  whisper  again,  "I  went  back  wid  her, 
and  thin  she  lit  a  candle  on  the  table  standin' 
in  the  middle  of  her  room,  and  asked  would 
I  sate  myself  for  a  bit,  while  she  just  wint  up 
the  strate  for  some  things  she  was  wantin'. 
But  I  tell  yez  she  wasn't  gone  ten  min 
utes  before  I  wished  meself  -  out  of  it  again. 
There  was  the  quarest  creaking  noises  goin' 
on  yez  ever  heard,  and  the  candle  began  to 
flare  back'ards  andforrards — so,"  said  Biddy, 
as,  suiting  the  action  to  the  word,  she  accident 
ally  extinguished  the  candle  on  the  table  be- 


BEAVE  EOBBY  AND  THE  SKELETON".   241 

side  her,  leaving  the  large  kitchen  quite  dim, 
except  in  the  corner  where  Aunt  Mary  and  I 
were  silently  working. 

"  Wait,"  said  Johnny,  who  was  "becoming 
rather  neryous  ;  ' '  let  me  light  the  candle  be 
fore  you  go  on." 

"  Och,  what's  the  matter  widyef  chided 
Biddy.  uBe  aisy,  will  ye,  and  kape  yer  sate 
till  I  tell  yez.  Well,"  she  resumed,  "the 
quare  noises  got  worse  and  worse,  and  the 
candle  kep'  flarin'  wilder  and  wilder,  until  at 
last  it  went  it  out  on  me  intirely,  and  there  I 
stud  in  the  dark.  All  in  a  flusther,  I  made 
me  way  to  the  door,  and,  Ibelave  me,  if  Mrs. 
Maloney — bad  luck  to  her! — hadn't  locked 
it  by  mistake  and  taken  the  kay  wid  her ! 
So  afther  gropin'  me  way  about  the  room, 
and  knockin'  over  the  things  trying  to  find  a 
match,  I  bethought  me  to  knock  on  the  wall 
and  see  was  there  any  one  in  the  next  room 
1h  at  would  push  me  in  a  match  under  the 
door,  when — the  saints  protect  us!  if  I  didn't 
hear  the  awfullestest  groanin'  a-comin'  out 
of  the  wall  that  iver  a  mortal  heard !  So  I 
just  whipt  the  shoes  and  frock  off  uv  me, 

and  lept  into  bed  like  a  flash." 
16 


242  IRVINGTOT*   STORIES. 

"Oh  dear!  I  don't  wonder  you  were 
frightened,  Biddy,"  said  Kitty,  as  the  chil 
dren  huddled  more  closely  albout  her,  and 
even  Master  Robert  drew  a  few  steps  nearer 
and  sat  down. 

"Do  yez,  now?"  whispered  Biddy,  confi 
dentially.  "But  the  worst  hasn't  come  yet. 
Well,  there  I  lay,  all  gathered  up  in  the  bed, 
tryin'  to  kape  the  groanin'  out  uv  me  ears, 
when  I  felt  somethin'  pullin' — pullin'  softly 
at  the  quilts,  and  thin  if  somethin'  warrm 
didn't  kind  uv  brathe  over  me  face.  Just 
as  I  was  goin'  to  skrame  out,  Mrs.  Maloney 
came  bustlin'  in,  all  uv  a  flusther  for  ka- 
pin'  me  alone  so  long ;  and  I  felt  quite  com- 
forted-like  when  she  had  the  candle  lit  again. 
After  she  was  in  the  bed,  she  told  me  how  she 
had  bin  persuaded  into  buyin'  iver  so  many 
things  more  'n  she  meant  to,  spendin'  tin  dol 
lars  in  all.  'And  do  ye  know,  Biddy,'  sez 
she,  '  it  puts  me  all  in  a  shiver-like  when  I 
think  how  I've  bin  spendin'  Mike's  money, 
and  he  moulderin'  in  the  grave,  widdout  me 
ever  forgivin'  him  at  all,  at  all !'  '  Och, 
don't  be  silly,  Mrs.  Maloney  !'  sez  I,  tryin'  to 
comfort  her,  though  I  couldn't  help  shiveriii' 


I 
BRAVE   KOBBY   A1TD   THE   SKELETON.      243 

meself  when  I  bethought  me  of  the  dreadful 
groanin'  s  I  had  heard  ;  '  don' t  be  botherin' 
yerself  wid  such  notions ;  Mike' s  got  other 
things  to  trouble  him  now,  I  warrant,  besides 
the  likes  of  ye !'  And  so  we  kept  a  talkin' 
till  at  last  we  both  fell  aslape." 

"And  didn't  anything  more  happen,  after 
all?"  asked  Robby,  quite  disappointed. 

' '  Wait  till  yez  hear,  and  don' t  be  spilin' 
me  story,"  said  Biddy,  mysteriously,  as  she 
looked  nervously  around  her,  causing  all  the 
children  instinctively  to  do  the  same. 

"  Well,  as  I  was  sayin1,  we  both  fell  aslape, 
and  I  didn't  wake  up  till  the  middle  uv  the 
night.  The  moonlight  by  that  was  a-pourin' 
in  the  room,  showin'  all  the  furniture  and 
every  thing  distinct,  and  there,  in  the  corner, 
I  saw  the  black  Thing  a-standin'  that  had 
bin  pullin'  me  bed-kivers,  an'  it  a-lookin'  at 
me  wid  glarin'  eyes ;  and  the  next  minute  if 
I  didn't  see  a  sight  that  near  brought  me 
heart  into  me  mouth.  There,  on  a  chair  close 
by  Mrs.  Maloney,  was — yez  may  belave  me 
now,  for  I  saw  it  wid  my  own  eyes — a  skele 
ton  !  A  skeleton,  stark  an'  stiff  on  the  chair, 
a  kind  uv  leanin'  over  forninst  Mrs.  Maloney  ; 


244  IRVINGTOJST  STORIES. 

an'  she  slapin',  only  fur  the  snorin',  like  a 
young  baby." 

"Oh,  Biddy!"  exclaimed  all  the  children, 
in  a  breathless  whisper,  "  what  did  you  do  ?" 

"Well,  I  somehow  fell  aslape,  and  me 
lookin'  at  it.  But  after  a  while,  the  wind 
a-moanin',  or  the  groanin'  in  the  wall,  woke 
me  up  again,  and — 

' '  Was  it  there  yet  V '  whispered  Hobby, 
faintly,  drawing  his  stool  closer  to  Biddy. 

;  indade  it  was  then,  just  the  same  as 
iver,"  she  answered. 

"Did  it  come  to  reproach  her,  Biddy?" 

"Is  it  spake  ye  mane?  Shure,  Masther 
Robert,  how  kud  it  spake  widdout  a 
tongue  ;  and  did  ye  eyer  hear  uv  a  skeleton 
wid  a  tongue  \  But  wait  a  bit  till  I  tell  yez. 
Well,  there  was  I  lyin',  kind  o'  dumb  like, 
when  the  room  gettin'  lighter  wid  the  comin' 
morning,  Mrs.  Maloney  giy  a  start  and  lept 
from  the  bed.  Whist !  but  the  black  Thing 
let  a  great  cry  and  Mrs.  Maloney  screamed  ! 
Then  she  retched  out  her  hands  to  the  skele 
ton — 'Oh!  Mike,'  sez  she,  'but  I  forgive  ye 
wid  all  me  sowl !' 

(At  this  point  of  Biddy's  story  I  chanced 


BRAVE  EOBBY  AND  THE  SKELETON.   245 

to  drop  the  lid  of  the  flour-barrel,  extinguish 
ing  my  candle  in  the  act.  The  children 
screamed  "What's  that?"  and  Robby,  quite 
forgetting  his  courageous  qualities,  fairly  tum 
bled  over  on  the  floor  at  Biddy' s  feet.  Finally, 
after  the  candle  was  lit  again,  and  they  all  clung 
tremblingly  about  her,  anxious  to  hear  the  end 
of  the  horrible  story,  yet  almost  afraid  to 
speak,  Robby  managed  to  gasp  out — ) 

"Well,  what  happened  then?  Tell  us 
quick  !  When  she  spoke  to  the  skeleton." 

"Happened!"  exclaimed  Biddy.  "Why, 
nothing — only  Mrs.  Maloney,  afther  liftin'  it, 
giv  it  a  shake  or  two  and  put  it  on ;  and  a 
very  fine  skeleton  it  was !  It  had  thir-r-ty 
springs  to  it,  and  made  her  look  mighty  grand, 
I  tell  yez.  But  who'  d  a-eyer  thought  of  Kitty 
Maloney  wearin'  such  toggery !  Ocli !  the 
money  had  overcome  her  sinse  intirely  ;  an' 
to  think  uv  her  forgivin'  Mike  fur  fifty  dol 
lars.  Tho'  it's  not  meself  as  'ud  a  held 
out  longer." 

The  children  began  to  laugh,  and  Robby 
looked  rather  sheepish  as  he  said  :  "Humph  I 
I  knew  it  would  turn  out  to  be  something  of 
that  kind!" 


246  IBVINGTON   STORIES. 

"Did  ye,  now?"  replied  Biddy,  quietly. 

"But  the  black  goblin,  Biddy,  with  the 
glaring  eyes,  that  gave  the  awful  cry  ?' '  asked 
Hobby,  not  quite  satisfied. 

"The  gobble-in!"  cried  Biddy,  in  mock 
amazement ;  c  c  and  did  I  say  now  it  was  a 
gobble-in  ?  It  was  Mrs.  Maloney'  s  black  cat, 
ye  silly  crayture  ;  an'  what  cat  wouldn't  scrame 
out,  wid  Mrs.  Maloney  jumpin'  on  it?" 

"  And  the  creaking,  Biddy,  and  the  groans 
in  the  wall?" 

1  c  Och !  sure,  I  clane  forgot  to  tell  yez  what 
that  was ;  that  was  a  poor  soul  in  the  next 
room  a-rockin'  in  an  old  chair,  an'  a-groanin' 
wid  the  toothache." 

"And  Mrs.  Maloney' s  scar,"  asked  Kitty  ; 
"how  did  she  get  that?" 

"Didn't  I  tell  yez?"  said  Biddy,  inno 
cently.  "  Well,  that  came  from  her  tumblin' 
on  the  hot  coals  when  she  was  a  baby.  But 
sakes  alive!  if  it  ain't  strikin'  nine!  Go  to 
bed  wid  yez,  now ;  and  you,  Master  Kobert, 
don't  be  so  aisy  scar-ed  with  skeletons  and 
such  trash  after  this." 

Thus  ended  Biddy' s  first  and  last  ( c  hor 
rible  story." 


THE  ARTIST  AND  THE  NEWSBOY. 


SOMETIMES  men  say  of  an  artist,  "  He  is 
^  great;"  "He  lias  learned  the  trick  of  na 
ture  ;"  or,  "  He  loves  the  Beautiful."  Some 
times  they  sa}r,  "He  is  famous,"  and  some 
times,  uHe  is  good." 

All  these  things  were  spoken  of  the  late 
Henry  Inman.  As  a  man,  he  was  revered 
and  beloved  by  all  who  knew  him,  and  as  a 
painter,  his  name  ranks  among  the  highest  in 
the  land. 

Among  his  more  celebrated  pictures,  and 
one  of  which  many  of  my  readers  have  no 
doubt  seen  an  engraving,  is  one  called  "The 
Newsboy."  It  represents  a  ruddy,  ragged, 
but  honest-looking  little  fellow  leaning  against 
the  steps  of  the  Astor  House,  with  a  bundle  of 
newspapers  under  his  arm. 

No  one  can  look  upon  that  bright,  intelli 
gent  face,  with  its  glowing  cheeks  and  spark 
ing  eyes,  lit  with  energy  and  sturdy  purpose, 


248  IRVINGTON   STORIES. 

without  feeling  that  the  picture  is  no  fancy 
sketch,  but  a  veritable  portrait  of  some  rare 
prince  among  the  newsboys.  And  a  portrait 
it  really  is. 

When  Mr.  Inman  first  conceived  the  idea 
of  painting  this  picture,  he  sauntered  slowly 
along  Broadway,  in  the  hope  of  seeing  some 
fine  specimen  of  the  newsboy  race  who  would 
do  for  a  "subject."  Many  passed  him,  or, 
meeting  his  attentive  eye,  pressed  eagerly 
through  the  crowd,  shouting,  "Sun,  Herald, 
and  New-Era!  want  New  Ery,  sir?"  but 
the  right  face  was  not  among  them.  Some 
had  a  squint ;  some  looked  vicious  ;  some  had 
straight  red  hair  sticking  out  like  bristles; 
some  were  badly  formed,  and  some  showed  a 
deformed  spirit  within.  One  and  all  either 
offended  his  artistic  eye,  or  fell  short  of  his 
idea  of  a  genuine  out-and-out  newsboy. 

Almost  in  despair  of  finding  what  he  sought, 
our  artist  was  about  turning  into  the  Astor 
House  on  Broadway,  when  suddenly  one  of 
the  motley  group  of  boys  collected  near  its 
steps  arrested  his  attention.  Here,  at  last, 
was  his  ideal,  in  living,  breathing  form !  In 
the  stalwart,  roguish,  noble-looking  youngster 

1 


THE   ARTIST    AND   THE   NEWSBOY. 

before  him,  and  now,  indeed,  rushing  for 
ward  with  an  eager  u Morninpaper,  sir!"  he 
felt  sure  that  he  beheld  the  original  of  his 
future  picture.  The  little  fellow  was  ragged 
and  dirty  enough,  but  what  of  that  ?  Health 
and  cheerfulness  fairly  gleamed  through  the 
dirt  (though  I  know  Dr.  Lewis  will  have  me 
indicted  for  saying  so) ;  and  the  black, 
tangled  hair,  shining  where  it  curled  in  spite 
of  every  thing,  straggling  from  beneath  the 
tattered  straw  hat,  made  the  ruddy  face  look 
all  the  handsomer.  Then  the  man' s  coat  that 
he  wore,  with  its  tails  cut  off,  and  its  sleeves 
shortened  by  a  great  roll  at  the  wrist,  was  a 
picture  in  itself ;  while  the  trousers  full  of 
patches — to  say  nothing  of  the  places  where 
patches  ought  to  be— rilled  the  artist's  heart 
with  delight. 

Yes !  he  would  paint  him,  rags,  dirt,  and 
all.  The  grand  boy-nature  would  be  there 
still.  ullow  fortunate!"  thought  the  happy 
artist;  "begrimed  though  he  be,  the  fellow 
looks  as  if  a  king' s  heart  were  beating  in  his 
bosom." 

So  Mr.  Inman  bought  a  paper  of  the  boy, 
and  asked  him  whether  he  would  be  his 


250  IRVINOTOlSr   STORIES. 


model  ;  in  other  words,  stand  for  a  picture. 
The  Iboy  looked  astonished,  "but  gave  a  ready 
assent.  After  a  few  moments'  talk,  it  was 
agreed  that  early  on  the  following  morning, 
Joe  (for  that  was  the  young  gentleman'  s  name) 
should  appear  at  the  artist's  studio,  to  have 
his  portrait  taken. 

"You  will  certainly  "be  there,"  said  Mr. 
Inman,  looking  searchingly  into  the  Iboy'  s  face. 

"Sir!"  exclaimed  Joe,  growing  very  red, 
and  straightening  himself  up  to  his  full 
height. 

'  '  You  won'  t  disappoint  me  ?'  '  reiterated  the 
artist,  at  the  same  time  offering  the  boy  a 
silver  quarter  by  way  of  ua  retaining  fee." 

"Look  here,  mister,"  rejoined  Joe,  fiercely, 
laying  his  papers  on  a  hydrant,  so  as  to  be 
ready  for  a  fight  if  it  should  prove  necessary, 
"none  uv  yer  foolin'  —  didn't  I  SAY  I'd  come? 
And  I  don't  want  none  of  yer  money,  nuther, 
till  I've  earned  it," 

So  saying,  Master  Joseph  turned  haughtily 
upon  his  heel,  and  catching  up  his  papers, 
commenced  shouting,  "  Sun-'  erald-and-New- 
Er-y  !"  in  sublime  disregard  of  artists  in  gen 
eral,  and  of  Mr.  Inman  in  particular. 


THE   ARTIST   AND   THE   NEWSBOY.         251 

Early  on  the  following  morning,  while  the 
artist  was  in  his  studio,  preparing  for  the  day' s 
work,  he  was  startled  by  a  "double-quick" 
on  the  bare  stairway. 

In  another  instant,  strangely  in  contrast 
with  the  daring  ascent,  a  modest  knock  was 
heard  at  the  door. 

"  Come  in  !"  shouted  the  artist,  well  pleased 
at  the  punctuality  of  his  sitter.  The  door 
creaked.  Looking  up,  what  a  sight  pre 
sented  itself  to  his  astonished  gaze !  There 
stood  his  ' '  sitter, ' '  indeed  ;  but,  alas,  it  was  no 
longer  the  newsboy,  no  longer  the  Joe  upon 
whom  the  artist's  soul  had  been  feasting  in 
dreams  the  long  night  through.  The  boy  had 
actually  been  washed ;  his  pantaloons  had 
been  neatly  brushed  and  mended ;  his  coat 
exchanged  for  a  "stylish"  Sunday  jacket; 
his  fine  throat  enveloped  in  a  fearful  collar  ; 
his  tattered  straw  hat  abandoned  for  a  trim 
cap,  and  the  shining,  matted  curls  were 
cropped  off  close  to  his  head,  leaving  only  a 
dingy  stubble  in  their  place. 

"You  young  rascal,  you,"  gasped  the  dis 
appointed  artist,  "what  in  mischief's  name 
have  you  been  doing  to  yourself  ?' ' 


252  IKVINGTON   STORIES. 

"Doin',  sir?"  was  the  meek  reply,  "I 
haint  bin  doin'  nothin'. — It  taint  nine  o'clock  ; 
and  I  had  ter  sell  all  me  mornin'  papers,  sir, 
afore  I  went  home  ter  slick  up  and  dress." 

"  To  dress?"  echoed  Mr.  Inman,  savagely  ; 
"  and  who  told  you,  you  little  scoundrel,  to 
rig  yourself  up  in  that  style  V ' 

u Couldn't  help  it,  sir,"  apologized  Joe; 
ume  shoes  an'  jacket  is  new,  sir,  or  was  a 
month  ago — every  thin'  onme's  decint  but  me 
breeches — and  for  that,  sir,  I  could  have 
a  new  pair  by  next  week,  if  you'd  wait." 

This  was  too  much  for  the  poor  artist.  He 
sprang  from  his  chair,  and  would  have  gone 
into  a  violent  passion,  had  he  not  burst  into  a 
hearty  fit  of  laughter. 

The  boy  looked  puzzled  for  an  instant,  and 
then,  after  casting  an  almost  tearful  look  upon 
the  breeches,  which  he  believed  to  be  the 
sole  cause  of  the  artist's  emotion,  turned  in 
dignantly  toward  the  door. 

"Stay!"  said  Mr.  Inman,  suddenly  check 
ing  his  mirth,  ' c  come  back,  my  boy ;  we  do 
not  understand  each  other.  I  wanted  to  paint 
you  as  you  looJced  yesterday,  and  now  you 
have  spoiled  yourself  for  my  picture,  by  put- 


THE  ARTIST  AND   THE   NEWSBOY.         253 

ting  on  your  "best  clothes  and  cutting  your 
hair.  Do  you  understand  ?" 

"He!  he!"  grinned  Joe,  "that's  the  go, 
is  it,  sir?  Well,  I'm  bio  wed  if  I  ever'd  a- 
thought  of  gettin'  my  picture  took  in  them  air 
old  clothes  ;  but  I'll  step  around  an'  put  'em 
on  ag'in  in  a  jiffy,  sir,  if  you  say  the  word." 

"No,  no,  Joe;  not  to-day.  The  hair  was 
what  I  wanted  particularly.  How  long  do 
you  think  it  will  be  before  you  can  raise 
another  headful,  my  man  ?' ' 

"Not  long, -sir,"  replied  Joe,  cheeringly ; 
' '  I'  ye  got  a  reg'  lar  mop,  sir,  gen'  rally.  It 
'  ud  have  bin  down  to  me  heels  afore  this,  if 
mammy  hadn't  cropped  it  off  last  Sunday- 
school  exhibition.  She  chipped  it  extra  close 
this  morning,  yer  see,  on  account  uv  having 
me  pictur'  took,  he  !  he  !  But  it'll  be  out  in 
less  nor  a  month,  sir." 

Whether  the  artist  concluded  to  wait  for 
the  hair  or  not,  I  do  not  remember,  as  it  is 
many  years  since  he  narrated  the  incident. 
Certain  it  is,  however,  that  Joe,  though  a  man 
grown  now  (and,  let  us  believe,  an  honest  and 
good  man),  is  living  an  eternal  youth  in  In- 
man's  picture  of  the  Newsboy. 


THE    BOYS'    BATTLE-SONG. 

AIE. — Benny  Havens. 


WE  are  marching  on  to  battle,  boys, 
With  banners  floating  high, 
In  the  field  of  Life  before  us,  boys, 

To  conquer  ere  we  die  ! 
With  brave  old  Truth  for  general,    . 

And  Honor  as  his  aide, 
We'll  face  the  thickest  of  the  fight, 
And  never  be  afraid. 

OJiorus. — For  we  are  "  Young  America," 

And  if  our  hearts  are  true, 
There' s  nothing  right  or  possible 
Our  army  cannot  do. 

As  we  march  along  to  manhood, 
We  must  get  a  full  supply 

Of  the  scholars'  ammunition,  boys, 
And  keep  our  powder  dry  ! 


255 


And  Faith  must  "build  our  fortresses, 
Where  lurk  the  hosts  of  Evil  ; 

And  if  -the  Arch-fiend  storms  the  walls, 
We'll  teach  him  to  be  civil. 

Chorus.  —  For  we  are  "Young  America,  "etc. 

Let  no  jealousy  or  discontent 
Our  ranks  divide  —  and  then 

If  we  cannot  all  Ibe  officers, 
We  can  at  least  be  MEX  1 

Soon  the  legions  of  Temptation 
May  assail  us  ere  we  know  — 

We'll  watch,  and  strike  them  as  they  come, 
take  the  second  blow. 


Chorus.  —  For  ?0e  are  "Young  America,"  etc. 

In  the  contest  for  our  principles, 

Oh  !  Father,  make  us  strong, 
To  ever  battle  for  the  Eight, 

And  struggle  with  the  Wrong  ! 
May  we  shield  the  weak  and  helpless, 

And  aid  the  striving  soul, 
And  spread  the  Gospel's  banner  out 

From  icy  pole  to  pole. 

Chorus.  —  For  we  are  "Young  America,"  etc. 


256  IKVINGTON   STORIES. 

Though  our  sires  are  Tbravely  toiling, 

They'll  leave  some  good  undone  ; 
And  the  heritage  of  noble  work 

Descends  from  sire  to  son. 
Then  shout  aloud  our  battle- song  ; 

Columbia  joins  the  chorus, 
And  bids  us  speed  to  win  ere  long 

The  victories  before  us. 

CTiorus. — For  we  are  "Young  America," 

And  if  our  hearts  are  true, 
There's  nothing  right  or  possible 
Our  army  cannot  do. 


THE   END. 


TURN 

™* 


CIRCULATION  DEPARTMENT 


,0 


U.  C.  BERKELEY  LIBRARIES 


CDS5D7M51D 


M269185 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


si 


